Bands
by ImOrca
Summary: Rick has always had a lot to handle. This story finds him trying to negotiate through sharing many kinds of burdens both old and new. WIP.
1. Prologue

**Notes: Melissa McBride speculated in an interview that maybe Daryl and Carol had already tried something romantic or sexual and it didn't quite work. Hmm. Well, what then? **

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Prologue"**

"What's this?" Carl looked past Carol and Michonne to the line of old women, men and children that Tyreese was helping to descend from the tricked out school bus. If it was what it looked to be, his father had some serious shit to explain.

"They're gonna be joinin' us."

Carl's face hardened. He squinted up at his father, then sent a harsh assessing gaze toward the ever-growing line of the needy, the sick, and the weak. His body went rigid, and he seemed to grow an inch. He didn't raise his eyes to his father's again. As he was preparing to turn and march away, he noticed something that ratcheted up his temper from simmering to volcanic.

Rick's left ring finger, where the band that had rested declaring his commitment to Carl's mother, was bare.

The golden symbol of their family was gone. All that remained was a sickly, pale strip of untanned skin. When had he stopped wearing it? When had this weak-willed, self-doubting, bleeding-heart, pathetic, broken excuse of a _fool_ removed the one thing that tethered Carl's respect to him?

Carl stalked away, his seething rage escaping as hissing breaths. His last thought was a vow that as soon as he was big enough to come near-even to the older man's reach and greater muscle mass, he would beat Rick to a bloody pulp.


	2. Twice

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Twice"**

Hershel had taken his oatmeal and hot tea out on the grass that morning with Beth and Maggie, watching the sunrise with his daughters. The Greenes took to having a sunrise meal together several times a week after the Woodbury group had integrated. It was fairly predictable once the watch rotations began to stabilize. With the larger population, private time was at a premium. The three found that if they didn't create time to share together they would get none. The early morning was easiest for them, as the real work of the day was yet to begin and they were usually assured that they would be undisturbed. On all but the most severe mornings, the three were out to witness the transition from darkness to light.

The Greenes had found their way back to their faith, even to Hershel's surprise, Maggie. His eldest daughter had begun simply going through the motions for his benefit when she was only fourteen. Hershel had never pushed her. At that time he had enough faith, enough patience, and enough experience to know that force could never accomplish what was necessary for reconciliation with one's Maker. Maggie had not declared to him that anything was different now. She had simply started joining him and Beth when they prayed together. And very gradually this initially silent presence had matured into quiet but participatory fellowship between them.

Beth had been a different story. All her life she had exhibited a childlike faith which was shaken after the final death of her stepmother. Her failed suicide attempt had been a shock to Beth's physical, mental, and spiritual systems. Unlike Maggie, Beth engaged her father in long and serious discussions. Hershel had come to realize his daughter was becoming a woman less by the way she could now handle a gun, or sashay her hips, but because of how she could ask a penetrating question and defend her thinking on biblical texts.

His own faith was shaken at the farm. He had felt the foundations tremble, and had descended into darkness and chaos, and the demon drink. It took the pressure of the very thing that had shaken him – the necessity to save others from the thing that had nearly put him under – to settle the pillars in place again. It was its own quiet kind of miracle, he was sure. To be saved by the thing that threatened your annihilation was something a human being could never have predicted nor accomplished.

As he stood, tipping his mug to his lips to drain the last swallow of honey-sweetened tea, he felt peace and pride for his children. He once again did not fear his own death. And though he would do everything in his power to prevent it, he did not fear the death of his children.

They didn't speak as they turned to each other to acknowledge their departures. Maggie picked up her rifle and bag of tools and headed off toward the east gate where the vehicles were stored. She had been training on engines, and helping one of the newcomers, Stanley, with the cars and trucks for the past two weeks. Beth gathered the few dishes, kissed Hershel on the cheek and turned to head back into the prison. Hershel crutched over to the bleachers to rest his back and good leg, and to meditate for a few more minutes before beginning the day's medical and counseling duties.

Hershel heard the sound of someone clearing his throat, and found Rick behind him.

"Good morning, son. Will you sit with me for a might, before we start another busy one?"

"Thanks, Hershel. I was hoping that we could talk." Rick sat on the level below him.

"Of course. Some trouble come up we need to address?"

Rick didn't say anything, looking at his hands. He lifted his head to stare out across the field, free of walkers, then lowered his eyes to his hands once more. He cleared his throat again. It seemed to Hershel that whatever thinking block Rick was having had been trying to manifest as a physical block in the man's throat.

"Nah. It's nothing like that, thank god. I just – ," he looked up and out over the field again, then turned and made eye contact, "I just lost my wedding ring. I think it must have been during the fight. I don't know if it was in the prison, or at Woodbury. It could have been before, or on the road when we stopped to get Karen. It's just...gone." Rick's facial expression was strange. To Hershel it seemed like his face couldn't decide what emotion to show, so it was simultaneously trying to use different parts of several. There was sorrow, relief, fear, and anger. There were probably several others in the confusing display. "The worst part is I didn't notice it until now. How many weeks is that?" He shifted his weight where he sat, and his voice lowered. "What does that say about me?"

Hershel considered the man carefully. After Lori died Rick had been so unraveled. He had hardly registered the birth of his daughter. He had neglected the welfare of his son. He had hallucinated for days, and he had been taken up in a near madness that almost cost them the life of Michonne, now one of the valued family. The loss of the ring said less about Rick than any of that.

Yet, Hershel understood where the question came from. Hershel had been a married man. The symbolism of a wedding ring was powerful for a man of commitment, like the former deputy. It was not a thing to be removed lightly, nor to be lost without consequence. To fail to notice that loss? Hershel knew that the question was motivated by a much deeper fear: the fear that the redemption Rick had sought, and was starting to believe he could someday earn, would be lost just as easily.

"Rick, you are probably thirty pounds lighter than when I met you. That ring was hanging from you, just like your clothes do. It would have near been impossible to keep it from slipping away."

Rick listened, but his face remained unclear.

"This world is not defined by the words, or the signs, or the rules of what was before. We would not have been a family then like we are a family now. It's our beliefs and the actions that make those beliefs into reality that define us now. Having a ring on your finger does not prove that you honor Lori as the woman who was your wife or the mother of your children. Those of us who knew her and loved her, who know Carl and Judith and who love them, who know you and love you – we don't need it. New people you encounter? If they need to know, they'll know her through you and Carl and Judith, not through any ring you wear. That's what matters, if you want to know what I think."

Rick turned to meet his eyes again. It seemed to Hershel that the war for Rick's face had ended. The winner seemed to be exhaustion. Hershel felt it was probably the best he could have hoped for.

Rick nodded and swallowed. He absently massaged his left ring finger with the thumb and index of his right hand. "Thanks, Hershel. I only lost one wife. You were married twice." He dropped his gaze to somewhere over Hershel's right shoulder. "I cannot fathom how you were able to live that down once, and then do it over again. And the second time, it was in this," he gestured around them.

Hershel nodded. He often wondered how God managed those miracles, too. "I had my girls. They needed me, helped me, and I them. I am also a man of faith, Rick. That provides me with something I needed then, and need now. And, I still have the love of Josephine and the love of Annette. They each became part of me, and what I became because of the ways I love each of those uniquely beautiful women lives on."

There was the slightest change in Rick's gaze at that. Hershel couldn't read what it meant through the veil of weariness, but Rick seemed to be thinking hard. Rick reached up a hand and clapped Hershel's shoulder. With the barest of smiles, Rick stood and moved back toward the door to reenter the prison.

"Rick!" Hershel called.

"Yeah?"

"I'm ordering you to bed rest for at least six hours. I know you were on watch last night, and I know you came back in to tend Judith. That's the honor Lori needs, but your daughter needs a father that doesn't keel over. Beth has her this morning, so you are free. Do I make myself clear?"

Rick paused. His silence went on much longer than Hershel expected. Finally, with great reluctance, Rick replied, "Clear."


	3. Getting Old

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Getting Old"**

Rick made his way to the cafeteria after his sleep, hoping he would catch the late shift. They had to eat in waves now, with more bodies to feed. The good thing was that a number of the elders found feeding their community to be meaningful work, which took part of the burdens off Carol.

Rick rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and shook his head. She had taken on so much since they had come. The skills of scavenging and war were not the same ones needed to sooth hurts, build new ties, and care for the souls of the aging and the young. Rick knew he didn't have them. Hell, he hardly had what he needed to talk to his son anymore. And late at night, when it got quiet and he felt truly alone, he despaired over whether he would ever be a man Judith would love as her daddy. He watched Carl, Hershel, even Daryl and Tyreese bond with the baby. We wondered if he had destroyed that chance in the days and weeks after he'd lost Lori, or maybe even in the months when Judith had been growing inside his wife and his had not been a loving voice the growing baby had heard in muffled tones in the womb.

But these things were Carol's specialties. She always seemed to be in the right places. It wasn't that she made inspiring speeches, or created specific plans. She lead always by example. She forgave when forgiveness was warranted. She held out for apologies when repentance was needed. She asked for actions when words would not suffice. She seemed to understand who would be helped by a silent presence in the room, who needed a hand on their shoulder, and who needed to be held as their grief or pain or joy was expelled harshly. She watched carefully, and she read people. And she had that rarest of gifts: she could still laugh.

Mrs. McLeod and Gerald Caster were on kitchen duty, and he thought the third member of the crew was Ronnelle? Raquel? The first two were a permanent fixture, and the third rotated. Mrs. McLeod preferred it. She claimed that the hot water in the dish washing helped to ease her arthritis. Gerald Caster had been a diner cook, and was quick and efficient, if prone to be grumpy. As Rick entered the room it appeared that he was catching the tail end of last shift. He passed several of the new residents as they left, and nodded to Sasha as he passed her exiting. The only two left seated were Carl and Carol. She often waited until things were settling down to take her plate, and in the past month it had become Carl's pattern to join her. His surly behavior grated on most people, and Carol was one of the few who hadn't started to avoid him on principle.

"Well, waited long enough, sleeping beauty. You're just lucky you got here before I had it all put away. I would _not_ have warmed up any left overs for you," Gerald groused, pointing a food encrusted serving spoon at him. Rick smiled. The two had come to a kind of agreement about the pattern of their interaction. Gerald would call him a name, usually something rather girly, and Rick would mildly insult whatever was on the menu. Rick's personal favorite of Gerald's nicknames for him was "Sally Apple," partly because he had no idea what it meant. Probably something from Gerald's checkered past. As Rick left, he'd admit the food was pretty good, and Gerald would begrudgingly wish him a good day.

Rick picked up the plate Gerald handed him and gave it a perfunctory sniff. It looked like a creative concoction of potatoes, some kind of leafy greens, corn, and carrots, and some kind of pretty tasty looking custard on the side. Lemon? The thought of it made Rick's stomach growl. He adjusted his mouth into what he hoped was "disdain." "Well, from the looks of it, I wish I had been slower to the table, Gerald. But, I never get quite that lucky. We'll just see how it goes today." With that he turned, and walked to the occupied table, hiding his smile.

Carl refused to meet his eye as he sat down. God, he was getting tired of that shit. Why had he given that little prick a gun? Carol smiled at him. Well, at least the world still had some tiny pieces of beauty in it. He lowered his head and ran his hands through his hair, preparing for yet another meal strained between Carl's hostility and Carol's attempts to broker peace. He was near to giving up. If he was honest, he was near to giving in and letting Carl have the fist fight that the boy seemed aching to have. Was it really just testosterone and having to see too much violence that did this to the boy?

As he reached for his fork, he noticed Carol move to bump shoulders with Carl out of his periphery vision, and bend to whisper something to him. As Rick dug in for his first bite, he glanced over at them covertly and was surprised to see Carl had actually looked at him, and not only that but was smiling. Continuing the unexpected turn of events, his two table mates smirked at one another, and began a failed attempt to cover increasing, shared amusement. Obviously, whatever it was was at his expense.

"Alright. What?"

Carol snorted behind a hand holding a forkful of potatoes, and Carl dipped his head so that he was hidden beneath the brim of his hat. The two were laughing out loud now, not suppressing their joviality anymore. Attempting to get herself under control, Carol tried, "Well, Rick, it's... aha, it's –," she broke as she was unable to withhold a laugh through her nose, " – it's just that...you have kind of a Georgia-white-boy-Afro going there!" And at that she and Carl collapsed against each other in a fit of giggles.

"A what?"

This time it was Carl who tried. "Your hair. It's gotten long and it's – it's so curly that – that it's all standing straight up!" And they broke down again.

Rick couldn't help but be caught up in their mirth. "Cut it out you two! You really shouldn't make fun of bad hair days." He stuffed his fork of potatoes into his mouth and chewed. "I swear, I deserve extra pudding for getting picked on." He stared down his fork as he brandished it at them in a mock-threatening gesture. They laughed at that, and he did to. "Really? Is it that bad?"

Carol tilted her head and surveyed him critically. She said just one word, and it sent her and Carl back into another fit: "Yes."

Once the two of them had settled down, Carl picked up his plate. "I'll see ya later." Rick tried to hide his astonishment. Carl had actually addressed them both, and not just Carol. His son bussed his plate to Mrs. McLeod and glanced back at them once more before leaving the cafeteria, and nodded.

"I cannot believe it. He spoke to me of his own free will. I swear I am going to wear my hair like a freak every damn day!" He turned to Carol and winked.

She smiled broadly and hummed low. "He is so committed to refusing to be a child anymore that it wears on him. Sometimes he lets his guard down." She shook her head. "I'm sure he'll regret it later." Although Rick knew she was teasing, he also knew they both recognized the truth to be mourned in her statement.

She looked over to him and reached out a hand to pat at his head. Rick realized that she really was patting an alarming distance away from his scalp.

"It really is out of hand, Rick. Tell you what, why don't you come find me after supper and I'll give you a trim. It's been forever. Would that be ok?" She grinned at him.

"Really, Carol, you don't need to put yourself out. You've got so much to take care of. I'll figure something."

"Pfft! It is no trouble. I've got some free time tonight. I don't mind at all. Let me do a little something nice for you. You can tell me about Carl, and maybe what else has been eatin' at ya?"

Rick released a sigh. "Obvious, huh?"

"Well, maybe I've just known you so long. There's just five of us left from the quarry now." Her voice got soft. "Sometimes we need a little time with our oldest friends."

"Yeah." Rick looked over at her. She had turned to watch Gerald and the others deal with the remains of the shift. She was profiled against the light from the cafeteria windows. Her hair was longer now, too, but she still kept the pixie cut. It was flattering, softer around her face than when he first met her. She held her plate and silverware in her hands. They had been work-worn from the first time he'd encountered her. The laundry, the mending, the massaging of aches, and the holding of children's hands kept the nails short and the skin slightly chapped. As he was observing her she moved her left hand up from her plate and rested it under her chin. Her eyes were crinkled and a smile hovered just at the edges of her mouth. She was seeing something in this that she was able to find pleasure in. Rick loved that about her.

Rick took notice that she no longer wore her wedding ring. He wasn't sure when she stopped. He recalled that she still wore it when Sophia first went missing. Had she been wearing it during their first winter after the farm? After Judith was born? How long had it been after Ed died that she had abandoned feeling like a wife? Knowing what they did about her life with him, Rick hoped she was able to find freedom from that quickly. He wondered how different it was for her than it was for him. He wondered if she would be willing to talk with him about it. Did he dare to ask her? Would it be fair to ask her to share his burdens when she had so many others to care for? He didn't know. He wasn't quite sure if he would be able to stop himself.

He reached for her plate and stacked it with his own to clear. As he rose she looked up to meet his eyes.

"So after supper? I'll probably be in my cell."

"Okay. Sure. I guess I can trust my locks to you."

She chuckled again. "I'll do right by you, Rick, I promise."

He never doubted she would. "Is it Ronnelle? The third one on today?"

"Regina. Mayweather."

Shaking his head, he acknowledged his failure. "How do you do that? I have got to get better at keeping us all straight. I'm getting old, I think."

"I think we should be awfully grateful for that, don't you?" Her eyes were so blue.

He nodded, and moved to engage Gerald in their parting banter.


	4. Fists I

**Notes: If you've read my others stories, or checked my favorite's list, it's probably clear that my preferred 'ship isn't Rick/Carol. Several people have commented that they would "forgive me" for the pairing and read anyway. :) ****Believe me...I kind of have to forgive myself! So, I really do appreciate the chance. **

**The thing is, Daryl gets treated like a hot property. **_**I get it.**_** This is **_**fiction**_** and I have **_**eyes**_**. See above. But when I think about it? Overkill.**

**I wanted to work on the idea that Carol is not a fourth-prize, forgettable baby-sitter. There are many reasons why she would be the **_**first**_** choice of any mature, red-blooded, reasonable, adult male. Or at least one that stopped hallucinating a while ago...**

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors. And, I suppose, the ridiculous amount of minor OC's that writing post 3.16 and pre-S4 require. Bother.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: "****Fists I"**

Carl was kicking himself. He had let his guard down and sure enough, he'd ended up giving in to his dad. And Carol had done it. She was always doing it. And the way his dad was looking at her? Carl knew what was happening. Carol would have no idea. She was just like that, and she wouldn't get it until it was too late. And where was Daryl anyway? Wasn't_ he_ getting it? Fuck all of this!

Carl was headed to the halls leading to the unsecured parts of the prison. He didn't have watch or any responsibilities for the rest of the day. That just served to make him even angrier. Using his foot he kicked at the sticky leading out of door Block D. It needed repairs, and he remembered it was on the list for the week. It wouldn't open or close, just stayed annoyingly in between. Carl found himself hoping that something dead had gotten through so he could vent on it when he got further into the halls. He pulled out his hunting knife. He didn't plan to use a gun. He was old enough, big enough, he'd been training, and what he needed was to drive a blade into the skull of something. If he didn't do it soon, he knew he'd be at his dad's throat. He rolled the idea around in his head. Again.

As he rounded the corner he saw Daryl. Just great. Now he'd probably get some lecture about being where he wasn't supposed to. He quickened his pace and didn't even look up at Daryl as he attempted to push past. Screw the redneck and his stupid crossbow! A lot of good it was doing keeping Carol and his dad apart! Maybe he should go full-on _shirtless_ instead of just sleeveless! Maybe then Carol would notice, instead of just getting Beth's head to turn. Goddamn if that wasn't another thing! Couldn't anybody just stick to where they were supposed to be looking!?

Carl was pulled to an abrupt halt by a hard grip on his arm.

"Where ya think yer headed?"

Carl shook free and kept walking.

"Hey! Boy! I asked you somethin'!"

Boy.

That was it! Carl turned and stared daggers through the older man. "What do you want, Daryl." It was much more than a question. If Daryl wanted to keep Carl from going further into the prison, Daryl would have to force him to stay. Carl was done taking orders.


	5. Fists II

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: "Fists II"**

Daryl was not pleased by the look Carl gave him. He usually liked the kid, but lately he'd been a right pain in the ass. He was either silent and angry, or insulting and angry. Daryl didn't usually mind that, considering his own default moods, but the kid had been looking at his dad with blood in his eyes. Daryl had taken to watching Carl closer.

Now here he was barreling toward the tombs, looking like he was set to breach the gates of hell, and from his stance and his voice, damned if the kid didn't look ready to fight Daryl. Kid had to be about fourteen now. Daryl vaguely recalled being that age. It was a blurry series of punches and bloody noses, his and the people's he'd fought. He'd first managed to flatten Merle at about that age. That had been one of the best and worst days of his life. The fighting had ensured Daryl was always in trouble. Maybe he should give the little shit a go and put an end to his brooding.

With two fast steps he was on Carl and dragging him back through the cell block, the boy's arm locked in the vice of his grip. Daryl smirked internally. If the kid wanted to do any damage he'd need bigger pipes than he currently had. If Daryl could close his hand around a bicep, the kid wasn't ready for the action he wanted. Carl was struggling against him, but more than a foot of height, and seventy-five pounds of muscle separated the two. The kid wasn't going anywhere Daryl didn't agree to.

Daryl dragged Carl out through the hallways, past the cafeteria and toward the commons. Rick passed in his peripheral vision, and he caught a hurried, "What the hell!?" in kind of Doppler effect as they sped on. When he finally reached the exit to the yard, Daryl shrugged his crossbow off against the wall and reached for his keys, opening the door in one smooth move and shoving Carl out quickly.

The boy stumbled into the sunlight hardly keeping his feet and blinking in the harsh brightness. It was only then that Daryl noticed the knife the kid had been concealing. Daryl strode quickly to him and disarmed him while the kid was still getting his bearings. Just as Carl got his balance Daryl shoved him by the shoulder again, and he stumbled farther back.

"Think yer gonna challenge me? Today or any other day," he sneered, "_Carl_?" He stood back and looked him up and down from his ridiculous hat to his scuffed boots. He was taller now, but not yet coordinated into his new height. "Well, if you think yer up to it, I'm more than ready to let ya test that assumption." Daryl unclipped his knife and tossed it and Carl's aside. "Let's see what ya got. But ya'd best put aside yer piece if ya don' want this ta get lethal."

He heard the prison door scrape open again, but he kept his eyes on Carl. He could tell they were drawing a few curious eyes, but he didn't care. The kid needed to work this out, and it needed to happen now. He'd goad him into it if Carl lost the nerve, but Daryl knew it was time. Carl's face was uncertain for a moment, and then it hardened, and he undid his belt, slipping it and his gun off. Backing up, Carl dropped the weapon on the bleachers and tipped off his hat, then moved toward Daryl again.

Daryl had to hand it to him. Carl either had sand, or a right screwed up temper. Daryl planned to let the kid wear himself out, then take him down with a couple well placed shots. A good shiner, a winding punch to the solar plexus, a nasty and painful blow to his side – he'd pull that one so as not to seriously injure him. He'd feel the kid out, see how he handled himself, draw him around and maybe teach him a few moves through the experience. Then in a few days, once the sting of the thing had worn off, he'd approach Carl and offer to do some more serious training.

Daryl had his left up, cautious. As he well knew, anger could carry a punch farther, faster, and harder than anybody expected. He was pretty sure the kid wasn't a threat, but he didn't feel like getting a split lip because he wasn't paying attention. "Well? What're ya waitin' on? I thought we had business."

"For a backwoods jackass you sure do babble."

That surprised him. So, the kid was gonna try and bait him? Not bad. He shifted his weight forward, inching toward Carl. The kid didn't flinch.

"Backwoods Jackass? I like that, comin' from a scrawny kid whose balls ain't even dropped." Carl's eyes narrowed. Yeah, Daryl had figured this was all about mannin' up. And probably something more. "It shouldn't surprise ya that Beth ain't got eyes fer ya. Yer voice is higher than hers. Might make fer a good duet, though." It was dirty, but the kid needed to vent this off, and he didn't have all day for a lesson. "Hadn't planned on it, but since you obviously can't be enough fer her, I might consider it."

Daryl had to hand it to him. Carl hadn't attacked him in a blind rage, though the words had clearly pushed him over the edge. The boy had sized him up, feinted left, and then swung at his right side. Carl obviously knew that his only chance would be body shots. He had come in low and to the side, also pretty good thinking, especially if he could score repeatedly enough in the same spot. Even a much larger opponent could only take so many jabs to the same rib before starting to make crucial errors.

Daryl pivoted, causing Carl's blow to glance wide, and gave him a hard hand to the back of the head that probably made the kid's ears ring. Daryl had to admit Carl was smart, though. He'd kept low, and spun away from Daryl quickly, trying to avoid the older man's longer reach. He just wasn't quite fast enough, and hadn't quite known how to place his feet on the way in to make his exit strategy effective.

As he came back around from the blow, Carl didn't stop like Daryl expected he would. Instead, Carl barreled directly into him, grabbing Daryl around the waist, attempting to bowl him over. Again, not a bad strategy. Had he been able to get Daryl down, Carl would have had a significant advantage for a few seconds while Daryl caught his breath. The boy would have been able to get in several good punches to the head until Daryl could have righted himself. But, again, Carl's weight and inexperience worked against him. Daryl simply dug in and didn't topple. To show Carl exactly what the risk had cost him, he grabbed the kid by the hips and gave him a hard knee to the stomach. There was no other way to learn.

The force of the strike loosened Carl's arms and pushed him away. He held his stomach for a moment, breathing hard before standing again, and circling. Good, Daryl thought. The kid knew not to stay still. But wary wasn't a defense. He needed to learn that, too.

Like lightning, Daryl stepped in and landed a hard right to Carl's face. It planted him to the ground, and he immediately scrabbled back and away. One black eye, made to order.

Daryl backed up again, letting the kid go. He shook out his hand and reset.

Carl was standing again, and his eye had already started to swell. He hadn't given up, but he was no longer living in his anger. He was thinking. Daryl smirked. If he could really do that, he would be dangerous one day. But not today. There were now a half-dozen people watching, including Rick. This little lesson needed to end, and Carl would have to engage again for that to happen. He felt just a twinge of guilt, but it had to be done. "Shit, Carl. How exactly are ya s'posed ta defend this place if ya can't even defend yer face?"

Carl launched himself without warning. Daryl landed a shot squarely on his breastbone that stopped the kid's forward inertia and set him back on his heels. He followed immediately with two quick blows to the face, and the shot to the ribs that left Carl gasping and moaning on the ground.

"We done?"

Carl made a weak attempt to move to his hands and knees, but gripped his side and went down again.

"I said, we done, Carl?"

He lay gasping and holding himself, and managed to nod his head.

"Fine."

Daryl walked over to retrieve the two discarded knives. "What y'all looking at? Get! Leave him be. He don't need no audience." Daryl warned off the onlookers. The Woodbury folks dispersed quickly. Rick's eyes were ablaze as his gaze met Daryl's. Daryl shook his head and looked to Carl. When he met Rick's eyes again he gestured toward the prison and gave a nod. He'd handle the clean up, just like he'd handled the fallout. Rick looked down at his son, clearly unhappy with the entire situation. But he drew in a breath and straightened his shoulders before nodding to Daryl and moving to return inside.

Carl was on his back now, one hand on his injured side and the other arm thrown over his face. He wasn't wheezing which was good. Most likely hadn't broken a rib or punctured a lung then. Daryl went over and seated himself on the bleachers next to Carl's gun and hat, waiting.


	6. Bricks

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Bricks"**

Tyreese had agreed to go with him to make the first serious assessment of the blown-out back of the prison. Since his small band had entered that way, Rick thought he'd be the best to check it. Unfortunately, none of the Woodbury crew had been in construction. That was one skill they could definitely have used guidance with. The prison had a number of maintenance issues that they were now encountering as they had to put more and more space into regular use. From what Tyreese had said, there was not only structural damage to the building, but perhaps the most immediate threat was to the fence.

The two decided to bring along Karen and her son Noah. The sole survivor of the Governor's massacre was turning out to be an indispensable part of the process of integration. She was trusted by the Woodbury residents, and her first-hand account of the Governor's actions had been the key to ensuring that both groups could begin to form a new alliance on the shared recognition of their need for mutual dependence.

Noah was a bright kid, but with the meager supply of medicine to control his asthma, he had to be very careful about his physical activities. Karen was fiercely protective of her son, but she was nearly as fiercely committed to making sure that any place where the young man could possibly contribute, he would. As a result, Noah was drafted into being the supplies manager for what he called "the complex." The name was catching on. He had commandeered the former Requisitions Office and reorganized the space. It now served as the clearinghouse for all medical and maintenance supplies and tools.

He had worked out a system for keeping track of what they had and what they needed to help make runs more efficient. He had then implemented something similar in the storage areas of the kitchen, and weapons, and was working with Stewart? no, Stanley, on the vehicles. Karen was clearly proud of him. Rick thought she had every right to be. The young man was quiet, but listened to everything. He'd be managing the acquisitions for any materials they needed for repairs.

Getting around to the damaged area was not as simple as it seemed. They had decided to take a vehicle, both to guard against walkers and the unspoken threat to Noah. There was also the possibility that they'd find something they might need or could use to bring back around. Tyreese was driving the silver half-ton, with Noah and Karen as passengers. Rick had hopped into the bed. Private time, even a few bumpy minutes in the back of a pick-up was to be cherished.

Rick needed to think. Watching Carl make the choice to take a beating from Daryl had shaken him. He had watched his son descend deeper into something darker each day since the Governor's attack. After the boy had explained his reasons for shooting the surrendering Woodbury teen as if it was completely logical, and ended by practically throwing Rick's old deputy badge as his feet, Rick had been at a loss.

How could he argue with his son when he, himself, thought the boy was right? How could he ask his child to stay kind and innocent, to be merciful and beneficent when there were no examples – even his father's – for the boy to see?

He had told the child that there was "no more kid's stuff." He had forced age upon him. Suddenly was he to go back on that? The hardness kept his child alive. Rick felt his eyes sting as the truck took a particularly large jolt and he felt himself lift from the bed before crashing down.

How was a child to understand what Rick hadn't until he had seen the people the governor had left behind – until he had finally understood the message that his love for Lori, the honor of her memory, had been trying to help him see?

How was Rick to explain to Carl that being alive wasn't enough, that keeping others simply alive did not equal "protection"?

How was he to help his son see that Rick had not, himself, been quite a man yet when the world went to hell?

How was he going to help Carl reckon with the fact that Rick had killed Shane not because they were different, but because he feared deep in his soul that they were too alike? That he had been unable to reconcile with Lori because he feared that his similarity to Shane was all she'd _ever_ loved about him? Even when she had tried so hard to demonstrate to him something different? Rick hadn't gotten there yet himself.

How was he to admit to Carl that the ways the boy was tied in knots and destroying himself were the result of the absolute failing of a father who knew no other way to _help_ his son?

Then there was the ring. Symbols were deeply important to Carl. Even though Carl seemed to hate him now, the boy still wore the deputy hat at all times. He had risked his life for a single photo of his mother for Judith. The dropping of the badge had been like a gauntlet as his father's feet. Rick knew Carl had noticed before he had. That made the regret he felt all the more acute.

Tyreese stopped the truck. Rick turned to get his first good look at the task that awaited him. His stomach dropped at the massive destruction. This wasn't a torn up wall. The entire back side of the building looked like it had been blown apart by a bomb. The top floor was fully exposed to the elements. Rick couldn't quite tell what the now-open room had been used for, but the walls he could see looked to be charred by fire.

The masonry from the top floor and parts of the floor below had been launched out and rained down, spreading like the flesh of an open wound down the sides of the structure that remained. The reddish brick looked like blood stained with the darker scars of long-dead flames and other detritus of the guts of the building that had been exploded out as well.

The debris had bowled over the fence, creating an unhappily convenient mountain that gradually sloped up and over, then back down and into the exposed bowels of the hulk. Rick felt sick, as if he were viewing the injury of a person he couldn't save.

The slamming of the truck doors broke him from his internal assessment, and he blinked over as Tyreese and Karen stepped forward around their respective sides of the vehicle and towards the wreckage. Rick launched himself over the side and landed with soft knees, moving up behind Karen to join them.

"My God, what happened here?" Karen breathed.

"Don't know. We thought maybe there was a gas line explosion? Or maybe when the prison fell there was an attempt at something big by the inmates. A makeshift bomb or something?" Tyreese had moved several steps ahead and was following the fence line toward where it met the mountain of rubble.

"Mom!" Noah had cracked his door and was calling his mother back. Karen turned and moved to see what he wanted.

"I'll just be a second," she muttered to Rick in passing, and he nodded at her. Rick went forward to stand with Tyreese and get a closer look.

"I don't even know how to begin. We got an entire exposed floor. This probably made the whole back end, even down to the foundation unstable. It's obviously unusable. But I don't know how we can even...I mean how much will even be safe to use? And how will we go about closing it off to the elements? Walkers? Incursions?"

Tyreese blew out a breath. "Well, first things first. We'll need to clear the fence. We can't do anything else until we stop the stairway to heaven here." He stooped to pick up a piece of the debris. "One good thing, though. This was brick. When it went down it mostly blew apart into small pieces. That means it can be lifted a little at a time. We won't necessarily have to winch anything. It'll take a while that way, but we can do it by hand if we need to. The kids could even make it into a game if we wanted."

Rick gave him an incredulous look. Tyreese laughed. Rick had to admit that the man's genuine good humor was one of his best qualities. "I'm not saying we turn them into forced labor, Rick. You know, just let them feel like they're helping. Get them out in the sun, with the parents they have left. Make it a family affair for those who have it. Let people watch as progress gets made."

Tyreese climbed up higher onto the mass. "With the smaller pieces, even the older ones can feel useful." He turned 360 degrees, surveying the mound, before climbing back down.

"It can really be a group effort. Yeah, I mean, sometimes it might be less than efficient that way. But this could be the kind of thing that doesn't just clear a broken wall. It could cement something bigger together."

Rick smiled at the larger man and clapped him on the shoulder as he came back. "Tyreese, brother, that is the best idea I have heard in a long time. You – I –," he didn't quite know what to say. He looked up at the building. It looked less like the skeleton of a dead animal than it had a minute before. "Have I told you how much I appreciate that you gave me another chance?" Rick looked back over at Tyreese, and was rewarded by with a slight duck of his knit-capped head and a broad smile.

"Me, too, Rick. Thank you."

"Hey, guys." Karen had walked up to join them again. "Noah thinks we may be able to recycle some of what we've got here. He asked me to have us gather some example pieces. He also says that the books in the prison library may be able to help us with ideas for how to shore this up. It seems that some of the work programs they were running dealt with construction. He'll take a look through what's there and pull some ideas for us. He was wondering if Hershel might have any insights? Having had to repair his farm buildings?"

"Now that's smart. Hadn't considered it. How about you let me take it up with him, Rick? It would give me a chance to get to know the man better." Rick thought, not for the first time, that Carl's decision to save the five strangers that were running for their lives out of the tombs that day was a gift he should thank his son for.

"I think you have the best ideas on this all around. Would it be alright if you took this on as your project? I will do whatever you need me to do in order to help organize. I'll coordinate watches, runs, the labor you want. You tell me."

Tyreese looked honestly pleased. "I would be glad to Rick. Glad to." He turned to Karen. "And that son of yours!" He gave her the smile that was its own kind of reward. "Damn!"

Karen nodded and looked back to the truck. She gave Noah a quick thumbs up sign, before turning back. "He has stepped up." She glanced down at her feet briefly. "His dad would be proud."

"Hey." Rick bent down a bit to catch her eye. "We all are."

"Thanks."

Rick wondered how it had happened. He had so easily encouraged Karen about her son. He felt it nearly effortless to thank Tyreese. And yet, when it came to Carl he was lost. Then, of course, he knew. He had fallen into exactly the trap he'd set for himself and the boy. Carl was not an adult. He had been forced to be so much, so fast, and Rick twisted the screws himself. But Carl could not provide the equal and easy response that these two adults could. He did not have the experience or the resources to share Rick's burdens. Carl had been valiantly struggling to do something he couldn't do, something Rick had asked of him, sometimes knowingly and sometimes not. He was one thirteen year old kid, trying to lift an entire mountain without any training, without any tools, and without any help.

It was time to stop expecting Carl to do it alone, to stop invisibly tying his hands. It was time for Rick to admit he couldn't be all those things for Carl by himself. It was time for Rick to find those things for Carl, and if necessary for himself.

"Let's get some sample for that 'engineer' of yours!" Tyreese said as he bent to see get a closer look at the make-up of the pile.

"Engineer. I think he'll like that!" Karen sounded pleased.

"Need to get him a hat," Rick joked.

"Hey, man. Put that on the list for our first 'project mountain' supply run!" Tyreese caught on.

"Will do."

Karen laughed.

"Hey, Tyreese. That idea about the kids was good. Can I ask, did you have any of your own?"

Tyreese stood with several chunks of brick in his burly arms. He looked a bit sad, but nodded. "Yeah. A daughter. She lived with her mother. She would have been around eighteen now. Julie. Beautiful." He walked made his way carefully off the debris until he was standing back on the grass. "So smart. She wanted to study physics and be an astronaut. Can you imagine that? An astronaut. They had pretty much dumped the whole damn space program but she still wanted to be the first woman to circle Saturn. She was so mad when they decided Pluto wasn't a planet. She organized a petition." He chuckled to himself.

Rick hefted his own bricks and stepped to join him. "She sounds like a wonderful girl."

"She was. You know how it is. Now, all I can think is what a fool I was about her and her mother. How I should have fought harder to stay together. But, then, nobody knew this was going to happen. We still don't know what will happen tomorrow. She was a miracle her whole life she was with me."

"You two were close?"

"Oh, yeah. She knew her dad loved her. I made sure of that every day. Every day. My own father was a good role model. I was a lucky child, to have a man in my life who taught me that. So many kids are missing it. That's why I volunteered, too. I was a Big Brother for five young men over the years. One of the best things I ever did. I still pray for each of them."

Karen passed the two and unlatched the tailgate so she could place her bricks in the truck. "Noah's dad, Spence, he was killed in Afghanistan. Noah had a Big Brother."

"Oh, yeah? I hope it was a good experience for him. Each of my Little Brothers became a life-long friend." Tyreese shifted his blocks next to Karen's. "Do you think I could ask him about it?"

Karen smiled. "Yeah. I think he'd like that."

"Well, ok." Tyreese returned the gesture, and grinned over at Rick too.

Rick marveled. The man was a natural. He loaded his own bricks into the truck and climbed in after them, pulling the gate shut. "Should we head back?"

"Sure. Hey, does Noah know how to drive?"

"Well, he'd been studying for his learner's permit before all this."

"Think he'd like to take us back? Really slow I mean."

Karen laughed at that. "Ask him!"

"I will!" Tyreese laughed too, a full and hearty sound.

A knock on the window turned their heads. Noah was gesturing out the driver's side. Several walkers had stumbled forward out of the trees and were starting to head for them.

Rick pulled his knife and scrambled out of the truck again. "You two get the truck turned around. I'll take care of this, and then we'll head back. Maybe driving lessons another day?"

"I'll back you up." Tyreese tossed the keys to Karen and joined Rick as they crossed in front of the truck.


	7. Fists III

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: "Fists III"**

Carl lay on the ground and cursed himself. What the fuck had he been thinking? Obviously he wasn't. Daryl had only been toying with him, and look what a mess he was. Could he be any more stupid? Daryl was an experienced fighter and he was some dumb kid with a hard-on. He'd picked a fight he had no chance of winning – hell, no chance of participating in! He'd been dragged like a rag doll through the prison, called out for being a ball-less wuss in front of a crowd, and then beaten into submission in less than three minutes. And his dad had watched.

He wanted to be pissed at his dad, but he couldn't. Carl knew that he'd have only been more pissed off than ever if Rick had tried to stop him. So, his dad had let it happen, knowing what was coming. He cursed himself again. Some fucking lesson. And he had been the only one that wanted it taught.

His whole face hurt. The initial numbness in response to the blows had been replaced by a deep ache in his jaw, and he could feel a horrible headache building behind his eyes. Holy hell, did his left eye hurt! He knew he wouldn't be able to see out of it. His chest throbbed, radiating from where Daryl's fist had landed, and his side felt like it was on fire if he bent or twisted. He'd need to see the vet. Then again, no. That would only end in a lecture from Saint Hershel. Like he needed another one of those. And the old coot might let him see Beth even less than he did now. He'd go to Carol. She'd want the whole story, but at least she wouldn't smack his head again. He couldn't be sure with Dr. Dolittle.

Painfully he sat up. He felt dizzy. Daryl's whack to the back of his head hadn't done him any good. Standing was not going to be fun. But he had to do it. Starting on his hands and knees, he unfolded piece by piece until he was fully upright. He wobbled, and had to breathe deeply for a minute before he thought about walking. Oh, god. Breathing deeply was not such a great idea either. Slowly he turned to the bleachers to retrieve his stuff. Daryl was waiting. Well, shit. What now?

Carl didn't say anything as he made his way over to Daryl. What exactly was he supposed to say? Sorry I was such a worthless waste of your time? Daryl was holding his hat. When Carl got to him, Daryl held out the hat. Carl took it and put it carefully on his head. Daryl next handed him his belt and gun. Carl put them on again. Hail Mary! Twisting to thread the belt through the loops on his pants nearly put him onto the ground again as his side exploded. He tried with everything he had to stifle his groan. Geeze. Like everything else since he'd left lunch it was a failure. Crap. Thinking about lunch made him realize the knee to his stomach had left him ready to chuck it. Daryl handed over the knife which Carl resheathed.

"So, ya wanna tell me what the fuck that was all about?"

"Can I sit down first?"

Daryl snorted. "Sure."

They sat in silence. Carl still thought breathing was quite an accomplishment with the way he felt. He figured his injured eye was leaking tears but he was a little afraid to touch it to find out.

"Y'been bitchy since the attack. Hardly anybody can stand bein' around ya 'cause ya been spoilin' for this fight fer days. I shouldn't criticize. But,_ you_ ain't _me_."

Daryl paused, waiting, but Carl still didn't know how to start.

"Look, I ain't interested in Beth, alright? But if you keep goin' like yer goin', she ain't gonna be interested in you. She already doesn't understand you shootin' that kid. And with how y'been to everybody, she's gonna think yer a monster, not her friend. And the old man?" Daryl shook his head.

Carl felt like bawling. He thought that was over for him back with his mom. "I – ," he started, but he got stuck. He waited, and he tried again. "There is so much. So many people that can't do anything. We couldn't keep ourselves safe, and now we're supposed to help them? And they were with the Governor! And Andrea's dead, and Dale, and my Mom, and Sophia, and T-Dog, and even Axel and Oscar. And Merle!" He looked at Daryl hard out of his clear eye.

"All of these people?" Carl threw his hand toward C Block. "They are all set to die even without walkers, and without a crazy bastard attacking us! It's tiny kids and old people. Judith is so hard to handle, and now there are how many? Jesus! My dad is close to crazy and he doesn't even care about our family anymore!" He was talking so fast he could hardly breathe. He finally had to stop because his side was hurting. And he was mad all over again, which set something to banging behind his forehead.

Daryl looked confused. "What do y'mean, he doesn't care about yer family?"

Carl breathed slowly, trying to avoid a stitch in his side. "He stopped wearing his ring," he gritted out.

"His weddin' ring?"

"Yeah."

Daryl nodded. "Asked him about it?"

"No."

"I guess maybe I'm too backwoods to get all that symbolism shit, but does he have to wear the ring to love you and yer sister? Or to remember yer ma?"

The anger was starting to ebb. "Um. You know I didn't really mean that, right?"

Daryl smirked.

"I guess he doesn't."

"So, what's yer point?"

Carl looked at him. He couldn't be serious? "Don't tell me you haven't noticed?"

"What?"

Carl scoffed. "You might not want Beth, but somebody you do want is getting a lot of my dad's attention."

Daryl swallowed and nodded, looking away. "Carol."

"Yeah. Why aren't you doing anything about it?"

"Nothin' fer me to do nothin' about." Daryl looked uncomfortable, and shifted in his seat. "We ain't together like that." He looked down at his hands, and Carl had to strain to hear him. "It ain't that we didn't wanna. But sometimes people are... too much alike. That – ," he looked off over the field, shaking his head, " – it don't always work."

Carl didn't know what to say. He had no idea that anything had happened between Daryl and Carol at all. They seemed exactly as they'd always been: on the edge of something. "Oh."

"Yeah." Daryl shrugged, and the side of his mouth tugged into a frown. He squinted over at Carl. "So, yer pissed because yer dad might like Carol?"

"I don't know." He knew it sounded like a whine.

"You don't know. You went and picked a fight with me and got beat ta hell, and you don't know?"

"Yeah! I don't know! It was like – like the last thing! And then I saw you, and I thought if you would just get off your ass with her, then my dad wouldn't have the option, and then Beth – "

Daryl cut him off. "Look, if you got trouble with Beth, it's yer own damn doin'. And you should _know_ this, dumbass. Carol is probably the best person you'll ever meet. If she ends up with somebody, that man's gonna be one lucky bastard."

With that Daryl stood and rested is hands on his hips. He glanced back toward the prison, then up to the tower where somebody new was on watch. "This Woodbury thing, though, yer just gonna hafta deal. They ain't goin' nowhere. Think of it like this: Yer the kid of the guy that was responsible for me losin' Merle. Should I have made sure you ate and didn't get eaten that first winter?" He was staring at Carl pointedly.

"Alright, yeah, I get it." Carl blew out a breath. His side flared and he grimaced.

"Good, 'cause I don't wanna hafta pound it inta ya again."

"Ugh. Please."

Daryl grinned at that. "Maybe we could do some trainin', though. You actually had good instincts. Just rotten execution."

"Really?"

"Yep. And you need to do somethin' about them pipes." Daryl lifted an arm and did a flex of his bicep. "Need ta have you haulin' some heavy loads around the place."

Carl mimicked his gesture, and Daryl shook his head, chuckling. Carl felt a less angry than he had in...forever. He stood up gingerly. "I'm going to go make sure you didn't break anything."

Daryl's eye twitched. "Who're you gonna see?"

Carl thought he deserved a little payback. "Carol." He smiled. It hurt his face a lot, and sent a shooting pain through his eye. But it was worth it when Daryl groaned.


	8. Circle

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: "Circle"**

Carol's afternoon was filled with organizing several of the Woodbury arrivals into a tailoring circle. They had found the supply of extra prisoner and guard uniforms, which provided the possibility of much needed replacement garments for their swollen ranks. With the harsher laundry methods, and the realities of lives that exposed most of their clothes to regular bouts of rancid blood, things wore out much faster than they were used to. Most stashes of clothing were to be found in the more dangerous areas – cities with higher populations or higher traffic supply centers – meaning more walkers or more chance of encountering dangerous survivors.

Leonard Gall had been a tailor before his retirement, and he and Carol had worked out a system to gather the measurements and take patterns from clothes that each resident said fit best as they came through the laundry. They were finally ready to begin the process of altering. They planned to use the prison supplies to create replacements as old pieces become unusable. Undergarments would be the hardest to provide. They still had not come up with a plan to deal with bras and boxer shorts.

Leonard was 72, only about 5'3", and had a fringe of curled white hair ringed around the bald crown of his head. His hands were small and precise, and Carol was certain that if he had his choice he'd have worn a vest and bow tie. Instead he had a range of khaki and avocado pants that had all been cut off to better manage to his short stature, and all of his shirts, she was certain, were actually boys' because he would have had a difficult time finding adult ones to fit his slight frame. He had confided in her once that his life-long partner, Albert, had preferred him in blue, but that he could no longer bear to wear it. Albert had died of lung cancer two years before the walkers rose. Leo was grateful. His lasting sadness, though, was that Albert had passed before the two could travel to Greece and see the Parthenon together.

Thread and needles were now constantly on the supply list for any scavenging run, as were sharp scissors. Sewing would have to be done by hand. Those people who had experience of any kind were drafted into the project. They wouldn't be sewing all the time, but Leo (as he preferred to be called) wanted them all in on the first few rounds to be sure they all used the same system. With raw materials at such a premium, there needed to be as few errors as possible.

There were six of them all together that would share the duties. The youngest was Tildy Barker at 14 who had taken sewing as part of her seventh grade home-economics class just before it happened. Her mom had been with the group that stormed the prison and Karen confirmed that she'd been gunned down by the Governor. Tildy wore strong glasses already, and Hershel was concerned that her eyesight would continue to deteriorate. She spent a lot of time staring at nothing at all. Carol had been trying to find a means to engage her back with people. She responded well to Leo and his lessons, and fairly well with Beth. But she had no interest in learning to defend herself. Carol was worried that the girl would simply wander into a walker one day and not notice.

The circle had set up in the guard station on the third floor of B. It was located in the corner, so it had windows on two sides, and was spacious enough for them to move in a table for each person. This allowed them each a work space to spread out their supplies and keep track of their tools. They had each completed cutting out their assigned garment when Carol spied Carl hanging around the door. He looked like he had been run over by a truck! Carol dropped her work and raised a hand to her mouth. She immediately gathered her supplies into her designated box, and stowed it under her table.

"Leo, I need to check on someone. It looks like there may have been some injuries that Hershel needs help with," she said softly into his ear as she bent close.

"What? Oh. Oh, of course, my dear." Leo turned over his shoulder and patted her hand where it she had rested it on his arm. "You have so many things to keep track of. If you don't make it back we'll see that yours gets taken up."

"Thank you, sweetie."

She stepped away quickly and was out to Carl in the hallway in moments.

"Oh, my God!" She was quiet, but intense. "What happened to you, Carl? This isn't walkers! Did you get hit by a vehicle? Did somebody attack you?" She had dropped to her knees in front of him and was rubbing his back gently. She wanted to hug him, but given how his face looked, she wasn't sure if she might injure him with an embrace.

His left eye was swollen shut and deep red. She could already see where the blackening stain was beginning to form. He also had what looked to be the beginning of bruising on both sides of his face at the jawline. She ran her hand tentatively up from his back under the brim of his hat, and felt a knot rising on the back of his head.

"Can we just go somewhere private? I was hoping you could help me be sure nothing got really broken. Maybe –," he hesitated, "maybe you could make this look less bad before anybody else sees me?"

He sounded embarrassed. It wasn't quite what she expected. It made her suspicious.

"Sure. I...sure. Would my cell be alright?"

"Um, is there anywhere else?"

That was strange. Why would he want to avoid her cell?

She stood. "Carl, what's going on? Why is my cell a problem?"

He looked down at his boots, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Beth. She's two down from you."

"Ah. And you don't want her...or Hershel...in on this?"

"Yes." It was a very, very quiet answer.

"Is anyone in your cell?"

Carl shook his head.

"Ok. I'll meet you there. I need to get a few things. But Carl?" She tipped his chin up. "You'll need to explain this."

"Yeah."


	9. A Little Like

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: "A Little Like"**

Carl's shirt was off and she was testing his ribs carefully. The attachments to his breastbone didn't seem to be fractured, though he would have some horrific bruising. His side was already an ugly purple about twice the size of her fist. She was probing as gently as she could and Carl was doing his best not to complain, but he looked like he might fall off the chair. From what Carol could tell none of the ribs were broken. They didn't give way with the telltale "pulpy" feeling she had come to know. But the floating rib was always hard to judge. He should be wrapped up to stabilize just in case.

Carl dropped his head between his knees as she let him go.

"Dizzy?"

"Uh-huh. I know I was shot, but I wasn't really awake for that. This hurts like nothing I've ever felt before."

"I need you to sit up so I can take a look at your face, and that big egg on your head."

Slowly he did so, and turned toward her.

Carol dipped a small towel into the basin of clean water and took him tenderly by the side of the face. She brushed his bangs aside and washed away the sweat and grime. She avoided the eye for now. His jaw was probably just going to be an ugly grayish yellow, with maybe some red-violet around the edges of the marks. He'd be swollen in the face for a day or two. It was unfortunate for him that they could no longer keep ice.

She rinsed out the cloth and returned it to the back of his head. The knot was pretty sizable, and he seized when she pressed at it.

"Have you had any difficulty seeing?"

He looked at her out of his good eye. "Um, yeah? Only one of them opens?"

She laughed. "I mean, is anything blurry or double?"

He gave a small smile. "No. Nothing like that."

"Have you felt really sleepy or anything? Are you nauseous?"

"No." He paused. "Just stupid."

Probably not a concussion, but he should be observed to be sure. Maybe he was ready to talk though. "Would you like to tell me about it now?" She carefully took hold of the lids of his uninjured eye so she could see check if the pupil was reacting normally. It appeared fine. Now she'd have to check the injured eye. She frowned at the pain it would cause him. She rinsed the cloth again.

Carl's shoulders sagged, and his hand went to his side. "I picked a fight I couldn't win. Because I was mad."

"Here. Look up. I'm sorry this is going to hurt, but I have to be sure that you're pupil isn't showing signs of a concussion. I'll be as gentle as I can." She held his chin, and placed the cool cloth over his injured eye first, allowing it to sooth the tender area. When Carl had relaxed a bit she pulled the cloth away and set it aside. Moving purposefully, she placed her fingers with exacting care and pressed the eye open. The white was bloodied where a vessel appeared to have burst under the pressure of the blow. It would look horrible, but do no lasting damage. However, the pupil reacted well to the light. She allowed the lid to close and let go as gently as she could.

"It looks ok. But you will have a nasty shiner for a while. Here, the cool cloth should help with the swelling a little." She wet the cloth again and handed it over to him. "I think you should be wrapped just in case. I don't think you have any broken ribs, but it will help to firm you up." She reached for the wide tenser she had grabbed on her way. "You'll have to lift your arms as I work. Okay?"

Carl had applied the cloth to his eye, and lifted his elbows, resting his free arm on top of his head.

"Let's start with the easy part. Who did you pick a fight with?" She started the wrap in the center of his chest and held it in place as she completed the first revolution.

"Daryl."

Carol bit her lip to keep from swearing. What the hell had the boy been thinking? What had Daryl been thinking?

"Exactly how angry were you? Did Daryl do something to you?"

"No. I wasn't really mad at Daryl at all."

She didn't cease the application of the bandage. "This doesn't make much sense to me. Why would Daryl even do such a thing?"

Carl didn't say anything.

Carol stopped her work and looked at him.

"I've been pretty awful to everybody. He was sick of it."

"Mmmm. Why did you think you could fight Daryl?"

She could feel Carl's anger flare. His body temperature rose immediately. "I didn't, ok? I wasn't thinking at all."

"Hey! Would you like me to sock you, too? Remember, I know where all the sensitive spots are."

He breathed for a few seconds, and it seemed to calm him down. "I'm sorry. I just – I just can't seem to help it."

"Well, try. Now, tell me what went on that got you to take on Daryl."

"He caught me heading to the tombs and he told me to stop. I wouldn't, so he dragged me out. When we got to the courtyard he told me that any time I wanted to challenge him he was ready. And so I did."

"Hold this." She had finished the final encircling and reached for safety pins to secure both start and finish so it wouldn't loosen and come undone. "Can you breathe alright?"

He tried.

"Breathe as deep as you can."

He did again. "Yeah. Actually, it kinda helps. It doesn't hurt so much when I take a deep breath."

Carol smiled, and tossled his hair. "Good. Now, you decided to fight Daryl. I can't imagine that was a very long affair. I can see from the results it didn't go well for you. Here, let me cool that off again." She took the cloth and rinsed it once more before handing it back.

"No. It didn't." He pressed the towel back to his face. The pressure and the coolness did seem to be helping the swelling a bit. But with the retreat of the swelling would come the darkening of the bruise. "There were people watching." His voice darkened. "Including my dad."

"Ah. Is he somewhere else in all this?"

Carl grumbled something.

"Hmmm?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"It's all these people," he spat. "There's so much more we need now. And we barely made it before! Carol, he can hardly hold it together! I mean, how are we going to deal with so many more kids. Then there's the old people. They can't fight or run. And my dad won't even let me protect us!"

Carol stayed quiet and listened. He obviously wasn't done yet. She reached for the cloth and changed it again.

Carl was breathing a bit hard once again. He took a minute to try to calm down again. "He can't even take care of Judith, or himself. But he keeps me from doing anything. And he just...he just...He's forgetting my mom." The last part sounded...wounded. It was the only description Carol could think of.

"That's a lot to think about, Carl. Can we do it a little bit at a time?"

He looked at her. He was miserable.

She shifted away from him to sit down across from him on his bunk. She folded her hands and let her forearms rest on her thighs. She thought about Sophia as she looked down at her clasped fingers hanging between her knees.

How would her girl have taken all that had happened? How would she have made sense of Woodbury and the Governor? Of the changes in her mother? Of the things they'd had to see and to do? She missed her girl so much right then that it caused a physical pain in her chest, and she raised her hand to her heart as if she could ease it with the gesture.

She looked up to meet Carl's eye again. "Just now I thought about Sophia. God, I miss her, Carl. Sometimes it hurts so much I can't breathe." She knew her eyes were getting wet. She couldn't stop it. What could she say to help this boy understand what it meant to have lost something to this world that he'd never had?

"At those moments I don't know why I'm alive. I have no idea why I don't just end things." Carl's eye got wide and he looked frightened.

"I probably shouldn't say that, right? Nobody is supposed to admit how hard anything is, are they? Well, I'll admit something else to you that I'm probably not supposed to, Carl. There are some days when I don't miss Sophia."

She waited, and as she expected, Carl's expression reflected confusion...and anger.

"There isn't a day I don't think of her, but sometimes I'm grateful that she doesn't have to do the things we have to do, or suffer the things I see people suffer." She felt tears that had been waiting finally slipped down her cheeks.

She looked hard at Carl. "She'll never have to watch me die, or Christ, make sure I don't become a walker." She sniffed and wiped at the wetness.

"She'll never have to fight other living people when we should all be fighting the dead?" She still didn't understand what was at the core of it, even if she had finally accepted it was necessary.

She hesitated. "She'll never have to live with herself after – after she shoots a boy that was laying down his weapon." It was clear from the catch in her voice that it wasn't an accusation. This was something that she knew caused Rick and Hershel to fear for Carl, if not simply fear him. She was worried that they had all missed something else.

Carl's face had gone pale, and she could see his lip quiver before he bit it. He pressed the cloth harder into his injured eye, but it didn't stop a lone tear from escaping from his other.

"You have had to make decisions that I haven't had to make. They were ones I am so thankful Sophia was never asked to make. Angry is one thing to feel." She waited, watching him. For the first time she reached out to touch him, laying a featherweight hand on his knee. "There are other things to feel, too."

Carl had dropped the cloth from his eye and swiped the evidence of the tear off his face. He was worrying the rag between his hands now, watching the cloth move.

She applied just the tiniest bit more pressure. "I think your dad is like you. I think he had to make decisions I haven't had to make. But, I wonder...if sometimes he's a little like me?"

Carl kept crushing the cloth.

She took it gently from him. "Here, let's give your eye one more cool compress before we send you out there." She rinsed the towel and folded it into a square for him before handing it back. He took it without meeting her gaze.

She let him sit as she went about tidying and stowing away the supplies she'd used back in her bag. She reached into the back where Carl kept his clothes and fished out a clean shirt. She passed it behind her without looking at him, and she felt him take it from her. She picked up his soiled one from the floor to take with her when she went out.

"I think it really helped. I'm starting to be able to open it." His voice was quiet.

"That's good. You should do the same thing again after supper. I'll leave the bowl and towel for you. Get fresh water and soak it for at least an hour."

She turned and was ready to leave his cell. Carl had donned the new shirt and was leaning against the wall next to the door now with his hands behind his back. His eye did look better.

"I'd really like it if you could stay in a public area or at least with somebody for the rest of the afternoon. I don't think you have a concussion, but you should stay alert and active to be sure. Can you do that?" She waited at the door, looking down at him. He wouldn't be shorter than her for much longer.

"Yeah." Finally, he looked up to meet her gaze.

"I'm sorry if I said something really wrong to you, Carl. I can't tell you what to think, or what to do about your dad. But if this," she placed her hand tenderly next to his swollen eye and brushed his hair behind his ear, "is what you do to yourself when you aren't speaking to anyone, and mad is all you're feeling? Please, grizzly bear. Don't."


	10. Caught I

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Caught"**

"That's why we are always going to need a generator. We'll never be able to do completely without them," Stanley was saying as Rick approached the open hood of the Tuscon where only the man's ample backside was on display.

"Geezus," Maggie's voice was slightly muffled, but Rick could still hear the irritation in her distinctive drawl. "You've got to be a friggin' computer programmer to even get inside this mother. If anything ever goes wrong with it, it'll probably be less work pull the whole block out and put in the engine of somethin' out of the 1970s!"

Stanley's surprisingly high-pitched cackle rose out of the machine at that. Rick was always surprised at how such a large guy could have such a small voice. "Now you get what I've been telling you! They are great. Unless something goes wrong – "

"– and something always goes wrong!" they finished the sentence together, their laughter mingling.

As Rick rounded the front of the vehicle both mechanics' mirthful faces came into view. They had a diagnostic box of some sort with cables that were strung down into the bowels of the Hyundai's engine. The device's power cord was run down out the front of the open hood like a thin orange tongue, and ended at a small, portable generator that Rick could now hear softly putting as is sat hidden between several of their other cars.

They saw him then and pulled out from below the hood. Stanley wiped his hands on a well-soiled grease rag that magically appeared from somewhere in his overalls. The rag next went to dab his profusely sweating brow as he extended his free hand in a greeting shake to Rick. Rick wasn't sure how it was possible, but Stanley seemed to sweat even when the temperatures were below freezing. Maggie simply wiped her hands on her jeans, and her eyes narrowed a bit as she noticed the newly acquired splashes of walker remains on the left arm of Rick's jacket.

"Had a bit of trouble this mornin', Rick?" she asked.

"Nothin' out of the ordinary. I was out back taking stock of the breach in the fence with Karen and Tyreese."

Maggie gave a quick nod of acknowledgement.

"How's it going here?"

"Maggie is a fast learner, but I shouldn't be surprised. When you grow up on farms like we did you have to know something about all the works or the operation doesn't run." If Rick recalled correctly, Stanley was from South Dakota and had been visiting his daughter and son in law in North Carolina when things went bad. He had lost his family farm as a young man in the 1980s' economic crisis and opened a service garage in his second career. All that was left were he and his grandson, but Rick could not remember the boy's name. The two shared the same dark red hair, brown eyes, and freckles spread across broad faces above gapped front teeth. The boy was about eight, and very good with the younger kids, Rick had noticed.

"Have you had a chance to talk with Noah about the next run? Do you need specific tools or supplies?"

She crinkled an eye and turned to Stanley. "How about the Jeep, and the wagon? They're the last two. Anything special?"

"Actually, yeah. The wagon has a suspension system gauge that can be oversensitive and trigger without need. Given the terrain we cover, it could give us some trouble. Can't reset it without opening the whole damn underbox." He turned to Rick. "We'll take stock. Maggie should probably go, just in case."

Rick nodded. "Okay. Plan on two days. Will this one be ready?"

"Approved it myself!" Maggie sounded proud. "So I'm drivin'!"

Rick chuckled. "You and Glenn will have to negotiate that yourselves, but I doubt he can stand up to your 'arguments'." He noticed how her diamond sparkled on her finger even in the dull light of the clouded afternoon. Glenn had tried not to brag, but the younger man had been unable to keep from beaming when Maggie had showed off the ring to Carol, Beth, and Michonne when they finally had some breathing room. The Woodbury residents had also enjoyed the normalcy of the ceremonial celebration of being engaged, as the surviving parents were able to explain to their children the rituals of commitment and family-building.

"Well, speak of the devil! It looks like we can get the decision out of the way," Stanley said, looking over Rick's shoulder.

"What decision?" Glenn asked as he came the last few steps to join them.

"It's not a decision. It's a done deal. I'm drivin' when we go on our run in two days." Maggie moved around Rick to lean into Glenn, her hand going automatically around his waist. Glenn instantly had an arm about her shoulders, locking the two into their standard formation. Rick felt a pang in his chest. He missed that. It had been months since Lori's death. During her pregnancy they had been estranged, and unable to close the distance to stand together. After he'd found her and Carl at the quarry it had been a few short weeks that they'd been able to hold onto each other before the destructive confrontation with Shane made it impossible for them to reach out.

Rick no longer needed to prove to himself that he had loved her. He finally believed, again, that she had loved him. What Hershel had said this morning returned to him. Hershel had said his wives had become part of him, and what he became because of how he loved them lived one. When the newcomers had arrived, and Lori had not appeared to him, he had finally recognized that he needed her to be a part of him, and that she could and would be. It had been the beginning of rebuilding confidence in himself. She had done that. It was what she had always done through her love. He was grateful for it, and for the time he'd had with her – even those long, lonely months.

Glenn grinned and got a wicked glint in his eye. "Oh, I'm not objecting. I love it when you drive."

Stanley's eyes got wide and he turned to Rick, with a slightly wolfish grin. Rick grinned back, and then looked over to Maggie, clearing his throat. Quickly he turned his eyes skyward, whistling a few tuneless notes. Stanley suddenly found his shirt sleeve cuffs extremely interesting and needed to dab his brow again.

Maggie raised an eyebrow, and looked pointedly at all three men in turn. "All of you had best watch out. I know the lady that washes your boxers."

With a quick kiss Glenn let her go. "I actually came to find Rick. I'll see you later."

"You hope," she said, but there was no malice in her voice.

Rick nodded to Stanley and winked at Maggie before falling into step with Glenn and heading back the way from which the younger man had come. "So, what's up?"

"I was just in talking with Noah, and he thinks that there might have been a gasoline tanker truck in Woodbury. "

"No shit."

"I know, right?"

"Did Michonne ever see it?"

"She doesn't remember anything, but that's not a guarantee. She was there less than a week with – " he let the sentence go. "And we all know she wasn't scoping out their supply lines. I asked around with a few of the other residents, but they weren't really in position to know."

Rick shook his head. He wished, not for the first time, that things had been different with Merle. This would have been something he would have known. "And you asked Stanley?"

"Not yet. But he and Eli got in even after Tyreese, so I'm betting things were on pretty tight lockdown by then."

They rounded the corner and were headed up the short stairs to the entry. "What are you thinkin'?"

Glenn pulled open the door and held it for Rick to pass in. "We don't know for sure it's there, or if it is, where. Plus, I don't have any experience driving anything like that – much less if it's not hooked up to its semi-tractor if we find it."

As the door slammed behind them they were pulled into the new sounds of what had become the prison's life. Still not loud by any means, but the low hum of habitation vibrated along the walls and chased at the corners of the high ceilings in the grander rooms.

"That doesn't sound like much of a plan."

Glenn grinned, and scoffed. "Yeah. I mean, no. Um, that is – I think we should take Stan with us. He's the one most likely to be able to deal with the vehicle parts of the issue if we actually would find it. He told Maggie he had his class A license."

The two had entered the Block C commons, and Rick pulled up. "Stan? Glenn, I don't know. The man is in his late fifties, and none too agile. Can he even use a weapon?" He gave the younger man a hard look. "Do you want to have him with you...and Maggie?"

Glenn's mouth hardened into a line and he closed his eyes for a moment before looking seriously at Rick. "I know what you're saying, but I need to trust Maggie." He paused, and his voice dropped lower. "I need to trust myself."

Rick nodded. He could understand that.

"The way I see it, Stan will be designated to stay in the vehicle at all times, unless we do manage to find this tanker. Then he still doesn't leave it unless we have an absolute certainty that we're clear to make a serious move. We only go for it if we can make it back here alive."

"You still have to ask Stan. I won't make him go. And Maggie. She has to be on board."

"Of course. We're partners in this."

"Why does Noah think there's a tanker?"

Glenn face lighted up at the question. He seemed to have been waiting for the chance to tell the story. "Woodbury was running a bunch of generators – more than it should have been able to, even with the gas stations that were within easy reach to take. The Governor had a pretty crack squad he'd send out on scavenging missions, I guess, so people believed that's where it came from. But Noah says that he and his mom never..."

Rick was still listening to Glenn as he saw movement in his periphery vision. He glanced up to the second level to see Carol coming through the double doors from D. She had a bag over her right shoulder, and that arm was across her waist, hand tucked in the opposite elbow. Her left arm was bent up, hand covering her mouth, as if she had been attempting to hide an emotion. She came to a gradual stop outside her cell, and stood there momentarily, her eyes moving up to stare first at the ceiling and then across to the high windows. Even from where he stood he could see the concern shining from their blue depths. As he watched she dropped her hand from her mouth and drew in her lower lip, as if trying to bite back tears, he thought.

He had the sudden urge to put a hand between her shoulder blades. Somehow he knew that if he moved behind her and bent his ear next to hers she'd be relieved when she turned to tell him what the problem was. He'd like to be able to do that for her. He'd press a kiss to her temple, and if she'd let him he'd put a hand around her waist and pull her back against him, resting his chin on her shoulder and holding her close until she felt better.

"Rick?"

Glenn's voice got Carol's attention, and she looked down and caught his eyes. Her expression went through a quick succession from surprise, to confusion, to...shy? She stepped into her cell, but Rick didn't miss that she looked back over her shoulder before she disappeared. He found himself liking that so much that he smiled.

"Hey. What was that?"

"What?"

Glenn narrowed his eyes and looked from Rick up to Carol's cell and back.

Rick shook his head and looked down at the floor before meeting Glenn's eye again. "She looked worried. Just wondering what might have gotten her upset."

"Do you think it was Daryl?"

Rick's mind returned to the throw down with Carl. Oh, god. That was probably it. The boy had likely gone to her to get fixed up. He'd have avoided Hershel for obvious reasons. Rick let out a sigh. He wondered, again, how best to approach his son. "Something like that."

"He's going to lose her if he doesn't move."

"Hnh. Do you think Carol is looking to hook up?"

Glenn gave an amused sound. "No, it's not like that. I just mean that Carol is special, and she deserves something special. Something more than a guy _not_ treating her as grumpy as he does everybody else."

Rick had to chuckle at that. He had never seen any sign from the two that something had progressed beyond a close friendship, though the speculation was rampant. Daryl would be a lucky, lucky man. He ran his hand through his hair, but stopped midway.

"Glenn, would you say I have a 'Georgia white-boy-Afro'?"

"A what!?" Glenn started to laugh and then abruptly stopped and looked at him strangely. As suddenly as he'd stopped, Glenn started laughing again, harder this time. "Ah! Ha! Yeah! You so do! Ha!"

Rick grumbled. "I'm going to take care of that tonight."

"Oh my god! No! Please don't! You have got to keep it! Ha!"

"Shut up!"


	11. Caught II

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Caught II"**

Carol made her way slowly back from the Requisitions Office where she had dropped off the extra supplies she hadn't used with Carl. Noah had been chatting with Tyreese, and the two had greeted her warmly. She hadn't stopped long to talk, however, not feeling quite up to company and still thinking about Sophia, and Carl...and Rick. She was glad the two had been so engaged and allowed her to take her leave. It was good to have close relationships, but having to explain every stray emotion to every person she saw got tiresome quickly.

Privacy had been at a premium, even before the Woodbury crew had arrived, but now it was a precious commodity. She understood why Daryl chafed under the watchful eyes of everyone. After spending the years of her marriage under such tight surveillance, Carol longed for moments away that were hers alone.

She had also come to value silence. It was rather ironic, really. She knew how important it was for building trust and bonds between the two groups that were trying to form a community for them to talk openly about hopes and fears. As she'd tried to show Carl just minutes before, she also understood how crucial it was for healing the wounds of the head and the heart to give them a voice. But sometimes...she just wished someone could do the work for themselves. She felt guilty for it, but she wished that she didn't always have to lead everyone through their problems when they came to her. She wished that someone would notice hers and ask and wait and listen to provide her with the help she needed.

That's what had initially drawn her to Daryl. He hadn't needed to speak all the time. He had been comfortable to be alone together with her when she needed companionship in her solitude. Daryl was restful that way. He was also able to tell when she needed the help. But though he desperately wanted to do the rest, it was never how things turned out. What began as his attempt to allow her to work out a problem always ended with _him_ working out a problem, or with them walking away from each other.

They had figured out that they were some kind of perfect complement in the wrong way. His emotional weaknesses so perfectly matched her emotional strengths and vice versa that they left each other more vulnerable. When they had tried to become more intimately involved, the chemistry and desire was certainly there, but they had been unable to reassure each other when it counted. It had been a devastating several days without him in the aftermath, made worse because they couldn't get away from each other. He had felt the loss, too, and to her surprise, it was Daryl that came to her first, asking to find a way back to something they could live with. They still needed each other, and the closeness. He could even tell her he loved her as she loved him. But it was not going to be what they had hoped it would be.

Carol made her way through D and back toward her cell. They had cleaned out D Block to make more room for living spaces. It housed the requisition office and the cafeteria. The D commons was now serving as the nursery and play area where the youngsters without parents were cared for by the community, and those with parents could stay if the adults were needed for work. The older children who were able had responsibilities for the community, too. The last she heard Sasha was trying to work out a system to ensure that the children were all receiving some level of basic education. Carol reminded herself to ask about it. That would be a good way to get to know the young woman better. From what Carol could tell Sasha was intelligent and amicable, if not quite as outgoing as her brother.

As she passed by the commons she looked down to see Beth with Jude. The two looked like angels. She knew why Carl was so smitten. She hoped he could hold on to that tenderness. It was crucial for him to have something in his life that was soft. She felt her eyes sting again at the thought, and she raised a hand to her mouth as if to hold back the surge of emotion she had felt with Carl from returning.

She passed through the double doors to Block C and slowed to a stop outside her cell. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and tried to calm herself with several deep breaths. The day was cloudy, but the widows still let in the afternoon light. As she gazed over to them, she hoped fleetingly that the clouds might break and given them a pretty sunset. She felt suddenly tired. She pulled her lip in between her teeth as she thought to herself that she was getting old, like Rick had said.

"Rick?"

Glenn's raised voice caught her attention and brought her out of her thoughts. Looking down she was stunned to find Rick staring at her. Glenn had obviously been speaking to him, but Rick's attention was rapt. His brows were just a bit contracted and his eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he was concerned, but the corners of his mouth held a hint of smile. If she didn't know better she would have described him as "fascinated." She swallowed hard. By her? She could feel a flutter in her chest, and her cheeks felt warm. What had she been doing!? Oh no.

She turned and went into her cell. She couldn't help herself, though. She peeked over her shoulder one last time and he was still watching.

Once she was past his sightline, she dropped her bag and pressed herself against the wall. Shaking her head she almost immediately pushed away again. What was she doing? She smoothed her shirt for no good reason and sat on her bunk. When that didn't feel quite right she laid back, reclining onto her pillow and putting her feet up. She crossed her hands behind her head.

She shouldn't be embarrassed. She hadn't been the one staring. She should be flattered. She had been drawn to Rick more and more since Lori's death. The struggles he'd faced to rebuild himself had left him more whole, she thought. He was less arrogant, and more open, and surprisingly she doubted him less than ever because of it.

There was something that felt...old fashioned about Rick, she thought. It was as if there was a bit of the 19th century gentleman that clung to him. Maybe it was the manners they taught in the sheriff's service corps, or maybe it was something of the South in him. Lori had told her that she had been Rick's only girlfriend. At the time that had surprised Carol, especially when she learned that not only were he and Shane partners, but that their friendship went back to their school days. It was obvious that Shane was a player, and from Carol's high school experience, players hung with players. But now that she knew Rick better, she could see how that might be. She giggled to herself. Rick seemed the type of man that might court someone, and might want to call it that.

She wondered if stabbing walkers through the fence in the moonlight would count as a date in the zombie apocalypse. Suddenly she wondered if cutting someone's hair would count as a date?


	12. Busted

**Notes: Thanks to everyone who has been kind enough to follow, favorite, and review this story. I really appreciate your kindness and attention. :)**

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Busted"**

Carl had promised Carol he would stay with someone or at least in a public place for the rest of the afternoon, but he didn't feel like seeing anyone. He knew his eye looked hellish, and he didn't want to have to explain. He wasn't sleepy, but he was drained. In a way that felt good. At least he didn't feel like his skin was too tight and his head was going to explode. Being mad had kept him going, but he hadn't had much room for anything else for a long time. He was also a little worried that if he made the wrong choice about where to hang out or if he got into the wrong conversation that he'd just be right back in it.

What he really wanted was to see Judith. She could recognize people now, and he knew she had a special smile for him. Carl thought his little sister was amazing. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he now understood why girls loved playing with dolls. It had never made any sense before he'd spent time with a baby. She was this tiny little version of a person. Her ears were fascinating. They were itty bitty, miniaturized replicas of his. Sometimes when he looked at her just right, she looked like his mom. He didn't know how to feel about that because it was really nice, but his throat always tightened up when he thought about it too much.

Carl wondered if Beth was working with the kids today. She usually was. He wanted to see her, too. But then again he didn't want her to see his face. But then again _again_, maybe it would be better if he told her about what happened rather than having her hear about it from somebody else. He stepped out of his cell and leaned against the railing. What if she took one look at him and wouldn't let him see Judith? He hung his head. Crap. That would be just about the worst. He swallowed hard.

He had such a crush on Beth. He knew it was stupid. She was older than him, and she'd had a boyfriend and been in high school before the world went to shit. He'd been in sixth grade the last time he went to school. For chrissakes, when you said it like that it was completely pathetic. Plus she was taller than him! Carl rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Was nothing ever fair? He'd grown nearly three inches and she was tiny and he was _still _shorter.

He wished she wasn't so pretty, or so nice. He wished she didn't talk to him like they were friends, or look at him like she trusted his decisions. He wished she wouldn't ask him for advice, or listen to his ideas, or wear her jeans that tight, or have such blue eyes. He wished she didn't have the scars on her wrists, or the voice of a Nashville star, or the smile that was shy with him. He wished he didn't know that her hand fit in his. He wished he didn't already know what a wet dream was.

Carl heaved a sigh. Screw it. Who was he kidding? He knew where he was going to try to spend his afternoon, busted face or no.


	13. Step Lightly

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Step Lightly"**

Ericka Van de Wettering was only twenty-three, but she had three children under the age of six, and she had told Beth she'd lost her oldest to walkers and miscarried another. Her common-law husband, Vern, had been killed just a few days after they'd arrived in Woodbury. He'd been an army reservist, so the Governor had recruited him into the guard detail almost immediately and assigned him to a scavenging mission under Merle's command. He hadn't returned. Ericka refused to accept Karen's testimony about the Governor's massacre of his own troops. He had come to her after Vern's death and promised to take care of her and the children. As far as she was concerned he'd never gone back on his word, and she could not believe it of him.

At the moment she was trying to comfort her youngest, Jahn, who was wailing at the top of his lungs after taking a tumble and getting quite a knock on the noggin. Meanwhile, her other two – Wendy and Kirk – were busy throwing every item they could reach at each other with surprising force and accuracy. Kirk had been nailed in the eye with a wooden block and Wendy had a bruise forming on her arm where a large toy road grader had smashed into her.

"_Dear Lord," Beth prayed silently as she watched, "I promise that I will never have unprotected sex. Please grant me the strength and wisdom to keep this vow." _

Beth was currently feeding Judith while supervising the three oldest children as they went about the lessons that Sasha had planned for them. Eli Nelson was supposed be working on math by working with supply figures. It looked like addition and subtraction for sure, maybe some multiplication? Jenna was practicing writing the alphabet. Beth didn't know her last name because Jenna didn't. Shawn Kothe was reading something. It looked like a book about engines from the prison library.

A new pitch of screaming rose over the already loud cries of Jahn. All three members of the study group looked over. Wendy had managed to heft the road grader that had bruised her back over at her brother. However, she had better aim and, it seemed, a stronger arm. The toy had bowled Kirk all the way onto his back and landed atop the child's face. Wendy was beaming in triumph. Ericka looked horrified. Jahn was crying fat tears, and lustily engaging in a duet with his injured sibling.

Eli stood and looked over at Beth. "Can I take a break and go help them? I think maybe Kirk and I should take a walk. Maybe there's something we can sneak in the kitchen."

"I'm sure Ericka would appreciate that. Thanks, Eli." Beth gave him a big smile, which he returned.

Eli made his way through the accumulated array of thrown items and lifted the model construction implement from the little boy's face. After picking Kirk up, Eli whispered something to him, and turned to speak to his mother. Ericka gave a relieved nod, and Eli carried Kirk away toward the cafeteria. Wendy's face twisted in jealousy and she made to follow, but Ericka quickly reached out to grab the girl by the collar of her shirt to keep her from leaving. Ericka maneuvered both her remaining children over to the rocking chair at the center of the mess and settled them on her lap, speaking to them quietly. Jahn started to break off his cries as they rocked, and Beth could make out a low hum coming from Ericka. Finally, Beth thought, perhaps peace could reign again.

The afternoon was waning and Beth knew that Rick would be there in not too long for his time with Judith. He had made it a point to schedule time with his daughter into his days after the adjustments had been made between the two groups. It was too easy to let everything and everyone else come first, and so he had made it clear that there would be no compromise. Beth suspected that Rick needed the rule for himself as much as for anyone else.

Judith had finished the bottle, so Beth stood, adjusting the tiny girl onto her shoulder and setting it aside. As she began to move and stretch her legs while burping Judith, Tildy Barker wandered into the room, moving in the strange, directionless, meandering way of hers. She didn't quite focus on anything.

"Hi, Tildy. How was sewing?"

The girl moved her head toward Beth, or not really. Maybe? Beth found it disconcerting.

"Oh. It was...fine."

"I think Sasha said you had some reading to do today when you got back."

"Reading? Hm. Oh. Okay...that's...fine." Tildy got to the table without quite meaning to and sat down, looking toward the vicinity of Shawn. He glanced over at her and nodded, then reached toward a pile of books, pulling out one with a sheet of paper wedged in between the pages and handing it over. Beth was mildly surprised that Tildy was able to grasp the book without having to feel around for it first.

Tildy was willowy and dark skinned, though her coarse, curly hair was light brown, nearly red where it was pulled into the short coils that covered her head. Her eyes were tawny behind her thick glasses. Shawn was around ten and tall for his age – thin, dark-haired and dark-eyed with caramel skin. At six, Jenna's hair was nearly black and cropped very short. Her skin was olive, her eyes hazel, her face long, and her nose a bit hawkish. They all had the potential to be beautiful when they grew up. Beth shook her head. The worry for all the children was_ would_ they grow up? And if they did grow up, what would they have had to do to get there? Would they be able to survive with their souls intact? Or would they have to become cold and hard? Like...Beth hesitated, even to herself...like Carl.

On her shoulder a little "pop" erupted from Judith and Beth couldn't help but giggle. Babies were so funny! Judith followed up with a few tiny kicks with her feet and a kind of stretch of her whole body. Beth reached up and rubbed her back one last time before turning the infant around and settling her so that she rested in a sitting position against Beth's chest, legs propped on her left arm while Beth's right hand secured Judith's back against her. Beth liked to let Judith see her world as much as possible.

Beth felt a pat on her butt, and looked over to her shoulder to meet Jenna's eyes.

"I'm done."

"You are? That's great, Jenna! Can you show me?"

"Nope." The girl shook her head and shook her paper insistently up toward Beth.

"What?"

"Gotta go."

The girl rattled her paper even more, swiping it against Beth's legs as she turned around. "Where?"

"Just gotta _go_ go."

"Oh! Okay. Can you find the way yourself?"

"Yes!" But Jenna's face was not nearly as sure as her voice.

"Tell you what. Why don't I have Shawn go with you, just to make sure that everything is safe. The two of you can stop by the caf on the way back and see what Eli and Kirk found?"

Shawn looked up and met her eyes. He made a tiny face, but shut his book and rose from the table.

Jenna made a frustrated sound and thrust her paper at Beth again. Beth bent and grabbed it between the fingers of the hand that was supporting Judith's bottom. "Okay. Tildy, do you want to go, too?"

"Oh. I guess...that's...fine."

Shawn made another small face but stuck his hand out for Jenna to take. The girl grabbed it, and started to shift from foot to foot as the two waited for their older companion. Somehow her book managed to get closed and she was next to them, though Beth was, again, not clear about how either action took place.

As she watched the three move away Beth noticed that Ericka and her two little ones were all now napping in the rocking chair. "Well, sweet pea, it looks like it's just us now. Finally!" Beth whispered into the top of Judith's head. Soft, dark hair was just beginning to come in. Judith gurgled a little back and jumped in Beth's arms, exercising her muscles. "Yes, I know! I know! We like it this way. Just the two of us."

"Three."

Beth jumped slightly and whirled around. She knew it was Carl's voice, but it still startled her. "Carl!" she hissed. "You just about made me drop her!" It wasn't true, of course. Once she turned around, though, she saw Carl's face.

"Oh my god! Carl! What happened!?" It came out as a whisper. Beth turned Judith quickly in her arms so she could free the hand that still held Jenna's paper. In one swift move she dropped it to the table where the children had been working and moved it toward Carl's face. Both his cheeks were puffy and slightly yellow, and his left eye was swollen, and dark red – almost purple. She dropped her hand before it got to him. She didn't know where she could touch him that it wouldn't hurt.

Carl let out a breath that he'd been holding and shook his head slightly, looking to his feet. "It was so dumb, Beth. I – I don't even want you to know." His voice was quiet. "But...I guess I can't help that, given how stuff spreads around this place. I thought you might already have heard."

With that he reached for Judith and Beth automatically passed her over. Carl held her so he could look into her face for a few moments, and the two shared a gaze. Their connection struck Beth's heart every time she saw it. What was it about men with babies that made them look so amazing? _"Dear Lord," Beth prayed again, "Maybe it would be okay to have unprotected sex if it was just to have one child. You can help me with that, too, right?"_

Carl shifted Judith onto his shoulder and snuggled her, closing his eyes as he nuzzled his cheek against her soft skin. Judith made happy noises.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah." He opened his eyes and shrugged the shoulder opposite Judith. He hadn't exactly looked at her.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know." He finally made eye contact with her. "I'm..." He looked away and didn't continue.

Beth waited. He was still standing and holding his sister. He had started to sway almost imperceptibly and rub small circles on her back. Judith had turned her head so it was facing into Carl's neck and pulled her hand in under her chin. This was her sign that she was getting sleepy and after her bottle that wasn't a surprise. Beth couldn't help but smile. "You are so good with her."

He met her eyes again and gave her a half smile back. "You think so?"

"I do. It's the one time I get to see you –," she stopped, suddenly embarrassed. She'd almost said too much, and she didn't want to risk setting his temper off.

Carl's brows drew together and he frowned. "Can I sit down? My side is kinda sore." He moved to take Shawn's seat at the table, and waited for her. Beth pulled Jenna's chair over closer to him so that they could keep quiet while the Van de Wetterings slept.

"Ok, now...what?"

Beth pursed her lips and looked away. She didn't exactly want to get into this, but she was equally worried that refusing to tell him would trigger his temper, too. She would just have to step lightly. She shrugged. "When you're with Judith, well, it's one of the few times when you aren't really...upset." She drew the last word out, as if trying not to say it.

She saw Carl's jaw muscle tighten, and then quickly loosen again as pain flashed in his eyes. He huffed. He looked around the room, and then at Judith and back to Beth. "I don't know how to explain it. Judith makes me feel special, but I spend so much time thinking about how helpless she is, and how helpless I am to protect her. Plus, it's not just her anymore. We have so many others now, and we don't know any of them. What if they turn on us and they hurt Judith?"

"One of the kids, Carl?"

"Yeah, why not?" He seemed to breathe in deeply trying to calm back down. "Or maybe it's not on purpose, but they are just being kids and get her killed? Or you?" He looked at her square on so intensely it made her blink.

"You didn't know Carol's daughter, Sophia. She was my friend, and she got lost. All of us could have died being out there, trying to find her. I got shot because of it. Daryl did too. She was a walker in your barn all along. Before that, after we left the CDC, Daryl had to threaten her once because she wouldn't shut up and it put us in danger from some people in Atlanta, from walkers." His hand had stopped rubbing Judith's back. His eyes had lost focus. He looked lost.

"Is that what you remember? Is that all you see of her now?"

Carl focused on her again, and Beth swore that for an instant he was going to cry. "I don't know."

Beth reached out then and placed her hand over Carl's where it rested on the sleeping Judith's back.

"My dad told me no more kid's stuff. He was right, absolutely right. But what do we do about this, now? We have so many kids. They aren't tough. They haven't been out on the road like we have. They can't protect themselves, and –," Carl's temper was building again, and Beth squeezed his fingers under her hand.

"And?" she encouraged softly.

He struggled, blinking and looking around as if something in the room would help him say it. Finally he adjusted his hand so that he was able to hold her fingertips. He rested his eyes there.

"And...my dad won't let me protect you."

"What?"

"He keeps me out of watch rotations now. He doesn't trust me anymore. Ever since the attack and the move-in he watches me out of the corner of his eye like I don't know what I'm doing, like I haven't saved his life, your life," he said, looking up at her, intense again. "_I _was the one who had to save my mom. _I_ was the one who was there for Judith when she came into this world and after. I'm not a child anymore. I can't be."

Beth swallowed. He had. He wasn't. But she knew, too, why Carl made everyone nervous. It was shooting the kid. She had been beside him when he had done it. It was a cold, calculated decision. The expression on his face afterward had chilled her. She didn't know who had been there at that moment, but she didn't think it had been Carl.

"Do you think I'm a kid?" Carl's voice sounded funny, and he wasn't looking at her again.

"_Dear Lord, How am I supposed to answer that? Why can't it just be one thing at a time? I've got walking corpses, dead loved ones, so many responsibilities, a potentially volatile friend, and now he asks me a question that could end up destroying something I haven't even had the chance to think about? You are really going to have to intervene in this one because I am so lost! Please help me. Please."_

"I think you are a wonderful brother to Judith. I think you work very hard to make good decisions. I think you have had the most unfair life of almost anyone I know, which is saying a lot now." She paused. "I think you confuse me."

"Confuse you? What? Why?"

Beth waited. She waited for guidance, for inspiration. She had felt a deep certainty that she should be as honest with Carl as she could be, and "confused" is honestly how she felt. Now, she hoped she could tell him why. He was still holding her fingertips between his and Judith. She moved her chair closer. Somehow she knew that whatever she said would need to be very, very quiet.

She waited, settling in the chair and getting used to their new position. She adjusted her hand in Carl's taking it more fully.

_Help. Help. Lead me in how to do this._

"I see how you are with Judith, and it is so sweet and serious. With me you can laugh, and we talk about things that nobody else understands – probably nobody can understand. But you have been so angry, and you say things that hurt people. You seem to hate my dad, and that's really hard for me." Carl opened his mouth as if he was going to protest but she rushed on to prevent him.

"I know, I know. He has been awful to you since – since the attack. But that's part of what's confusing, too. I don't understand why you shot that boy. The way you looked afterward scared me, Carl. It didn't seem to be the guy I know. I didn't know if it was you anymore. You are so angry that I wasn't sure I could talk to you about it. That might be what's most confusing."

Beth could feel Carl's hand shake slightly in hers. He was staring at their fingers on Judith's back so hard Beth was surprised the baby didn't wake up from the weight of it. He was struggling to breathe. When he spoke it came out in harsh, quiet bursts.

"I had to Beth. _I had to_. He could have been Randall. He could have been Shane. He could have been the walker that got Dale. The only way to be_ sure_ he couldn't come back was for him to be _finished_. Andrea wanted to save everybody and who paid for that? _Everybody_ did, because she's dead, Axel's dead, every able-bodied person from Woodbury's dead. But the Governor's still alive, and he's _gonna come back_. I'm angry because that's the way it is now. It's horrible and terrible and fucking awful, and _Judith_ has to live in this and _you_ have to live in this and I _have to be_ a monster to be sure _you keep living_ in this."

A sob caught in Carl's throat and he bit his lip to keep it back. Beth's heart ached for him. This was too much.

_You know I don't know what to do here. This has got to be you, Lord. This has got to be you. _

Beth leaned forward and put her free arm around him, pulling him into an embrace. Judith stirred between them but didn't wake. Carl still held her hand. She felt hot tears on her shoulder, though he had not released the sob.

"I wish I knew what to say, _mon loup_. Not everything is up to you, though, you know? We all share in this. We have to. Your dad nearly went off the edge when he tried to take it all. You're the one that was smart enough to see that. If you ask me, you are ahead of your dad in so many ways. But, we still have things to learn. At least I sure hope so. Because I feel so lost most of the time. I really, really hope I get better at things than I am now." She felt a tear on her face, too, but she felt herself laugh at the last.

_Should I? Will it be okay? _

It felt right. She pulled away enough to look at him. "I don't think you're a child. At least no more than me."

Carl smiled, and so did she.

"Did you just call me loopy?"

She finally extracted her hand and swiped at her cheeks. "No," she laughed. "It's from my French class."

"What was it?"

Oh, shoot. Now she was going to be embarrassed. "Oh, um. It was nothing." She tried to hide her blush by standing up and moving her chair. "Your dad is going to be here soon."

Carl stood and wiped his cheek on the shoulder of his shirt. Then he moved around to force her to look at him again. His grin was mischievous. "C'mon. You called me a name. I should at least get to know what it was."

Beth, glanced away and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Wolf. It meant 'my wolf.'"

Carl beamed. "What is it with women and animals today?"

"What?"

"Carol called me a grizzly bear. But I like this _much_ better. Your wolf, huh?" He looked positively wolfish just then. Beth blushed harder.

"Shut up, Carl!" She hit him lightly on the shoulder.

The jostling disturbed Judith, who yawned and wriggled in Carl's arms. Carl shifted her around to let her look out into the room.

"So, are you going to tell me how you got that shiner later?"

"I guess. It's pretty embarrassing."

"It looks like it must have hurt pretty bad."

"You wouldn't believe."

"Who did it?"

Carl hesitated. "Daryl."

Beth raised her eyebrows. "Why?"

Over Beth's shoulder Carl saw his dad making his way in from C Block and scanning the commons, assessing the area for hot spots of trouble like he always did. "I'll tell you the whole story later. Just, promise me that you won't listen to it from anybody else first?"

"Alright. If you tell me everything."

"Would a wolf hold out on you?"

"Carl Grimes, cut it out."

"No." He smiled. So did she.


	14. Before

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Before"**

The D commons looked like it had been ransacked by looters. Every plaything they had available to the children appeared to be spread out in a radius from a point not far from the large wooden rocker that anchored the space. The chair was currently occupied by a young Woodbury mother who was dosing with two of her young children. Rick smiled slightly to himself. He could only imagine what it would be like when Judith reached that age. He sobered quickly at the thought. If she reached that age. It was not guaranteed, nothing was anymore.

Movement in his peripheral vision alerted him to Beth who had quietly begun plucking up the wreckage to right the area. Tracing her path back he located Judith in the arms of her brother. Carl. Rick was ashamed at the reluctance he felt at the prospect of speaking to his son. Carl was seated in a chair next to the table where the older children often worked on projects or reading, and looked like he was speaking quietly to Judith as he bounced her very slightly on his knee. She was wriggling and grabbing at the edges of his hat with her tiny fists. Rick knew without seeing her face that she was happy. Jude was generally a good baby, but she never failed to light up with Carl. During the weeks since the introduction of the Woodbury group seeing them together had been about the only time his son's face did not wear a scowl.

Rick braced himself. Enough. It was not Carl who was the problem, or if he was it was not Carl that needed to provide a solution. This was a Father's time, a man's responsibility to his child – to both his children. Parenting was a verb. It was time to engage in the most important action of the apocalypse. These precious beings were created by the love he shared with Lori. These souls were her legacy, and they were her way of ensuring that he would be a better man than he had been.

As he approached Rick could hear Carl reciting a rhyme to Judith, but it wasn't one he'd ever heard before.

"Inka Binka bottle of ink. Pull the cork and you stink. Not because yer dirty. Not because yer clean. Just because ya kissed a boy behind a magazine!"

Then Carl leaned in and blew a raspberry on her tiny cheek. Judith squealed in delight and Carl chuckled low.

"You're going to give me a stroke if she starts chasing boys already and she can't even crawl."

Carl looked up. He wasn't startled, but at least he didn't look pissed off. His cheeks were puffy and looked sallow. The eye was bad, swollen nearly shut and a deep red with dark purple beginning to pool in the creases. He didn't say anything.

"I thought she and I would take a walk before supper. I would like you to come with us."

Carl didn't say anything, but he adjusted Judith into his arms and rose from the chair. Rick stepped over and picked up her bag, slinging it over his shoulder. "I'll just check in with Beth, and we can be on our way." It was fleeting, but Rick caught the spark in Carl's eye as he flicked his gaze to the girl and back. Ah! So he hadn't come here only to see his sister, and perhaps it had gone well.

Rick maneuvered carefully around the various discarded items to reach Beth. He touched her shoulder lightly to get her attention. When she turned he kept his voice low. "Beth, I wanted to check in before we left. How were things today? Anything I should know about? Keep track of? Was she good for you?"

As always Beth's bright smile fully lit up her face. She cut her eyes toward the sleeping trio in the rocker as she barely spoke above a whisper. "She's such a good little girl, Rick. We read stories, and she loved when I sang to her. She just finished her bottle before Carl came in, and she had a little nap with him holding her. I'm sure she'll be ready to sleep again in not too long. Oh!" she turned to meet his eyes quickly. "I also had her down on the blanket today, like the book said? So she could work on building her muscles. She_ is_ going to be an ass-kicker, just like her big brother! And, and her dad." Rick swore her cheeks turned slightly pink at the realization that she'd almost left him out. Well, well. He smiled at her.

"Thank you, Beth. My daughter is lucky to be able to spend her days with someone who cares so much for her."

She ducked her head, and bent to continue her straightening task. "You better get going." She looked up at him then, and she was serious. "I think he needs time with you as much as she does."

Rick returned her look and nodded. "I need the time, too." He reached down and squeezed her shoulder before turning to rejoin Carl. Beth Greene was special young woman. He hoped she wouldn't break Carl's heart too badly if she had to break it at all.

He gestured his chin toward the door out to C and Carl took the hint, moving to fall in behind him. Rick opened the bag to rummage through it as he walked, pulling out a tiny sweater and a soft, warm yellow blanket. Judith didn't get outdoors often because of their fears for safety, but she needed to see her world. The walkers had been fairly thin at the fence when he's been out earlier, and it would do her good. He also hoped that the open space would provide privacy for he and Carl, but not make them feel captured and hemmed in by physical walls when their emotional walls were so high already.

Rick stopped in the cage just outside the C block exit and turned with the sweater to dress Judith. Carl was gentle and adept at working her into the garment. It was blue and looked to be hand-knitted. It had a little golden teddy bear embroidered on the front, and a hood with a drawstring. Rick pulled up the hood and tied it loosely. Judith looked adorable, and he kissed her. He was rewarded with a giggle and bubbles blown as the tiny girl wriggled and squinted her eyes at him. He unfolded the blanket and prepared it in his arms to wrap around her, then held them out. Carl placed her carefully into the center and folded the ends around and tucked them in so they held in her stocking feet. Rick lifted her higher onto his shoulder and passed the keys to Carl who let them out into the yard.

The clouds that had moved in during the mid-afternoon were still hanging on, but out in the west they were starting to break up. It might mean a clear night and probably a pretty sunset. Rick turned toward the building, following the inner perimeter of the yard. They appeared to have it mostly to themselves.

"How's the eye?" he began.

"About as good as it looks."

Rick scoffed. "Bet it doesn't hurt as much as your side."

"You'd be right."

"What did Beth have to say?"

Carl made a dismissive sound. "Haven't told her all of it yet."

Rick nodded and they walked a bit in silence.

Then Carl said, "Is that what you want to talk about? Am I going to get a lecture about how stupid that all was?" Rick could hear the anger starting to build in his voice. "Because I know that."

Rick shook his head. "From what I saw you proved the point pretty clearly to yourself. You talk with Daryl and clear it up?"

"Yeah." Carl hung his head and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "We're cool."

"That was wise."

Carl's head shot up quickly. "I'm smarter than you think I am." His eyes were sharp enough to cut.

Rick let the statement hang between them. He patted Judith on the back and rubbed her cheek with his whiskers. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled.

"I thought we should talk about something else. I think we've been waiting on it a little too long."

Carl's eyebrows drew down and together as he asked the question without speaking.

Loosening Judith's grip carefully from his hair, he let her hold onto his finger and mouth it. Luckily it was clean. He stopped walking and turned to his son. "I want to talk about Shane."

First it was confusion, then anger that ruled Carl's face. However, Rick didn't miss the terror behind Carl's eyes, nor the shame. The boy didn't keep eye contact for long. First he looked to his boots and scuffed the battered concrete, then he looked to the clouds, and over to the west where the sun moved steadily lower. "What's there to say? He was a threat, first alive, then dead. We did what had to be done."

"I wanted to talk to you about him because you are the only person left here besides me that knew him before...all this."

That got Carl's attention.

"I want to remember some things about him, about him and me. I thought you might help me. And...," he hesitated. This was it. If Carl opened up to this, Rick had an idea of where to start. But if he rejected this outright, Rick wasn't sure about another way in. Shane was something they both needed to heal for different reasons. Shane could help them talk about themselves, about Lori, about each other. It would maybe be the last, best thing for him and Carl to remember about the man that had been a brother and, Rick would have to accept, a surrogate father.

"And?"

"And, I thought I might help you, too."

Carl dropped his head, the brim of the hat hiding his face. Judith yawned and snuggled into the blanket, so Rick drew her closer and tucked her into his chest. He began rubbing her back in small circles the way she liked hoping to lull her into another short nap. Carl was completely still.

Finally he looked up and met Rick's eye. "Okay."

Rick hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath until he let it out and it sounded much too loud. He wanted to grin in relief, but he knew it would be a mistake. Turning, he walked slowly again, knowing the gentle pace would sooth all three of them into this.

"You know that Shane and I went to school together, right?"

"Yeah. You two used to tell stories about it. And he had the necklace from when you played football on the same team."

Rick nodded. "He was a star. He made all-state our senior year. He should have played college ball, but he wasn't ever interested in that. He always wanted to be a law man, like his father. I was never all that good at football. Shane was a running back and played receiver. He broke records. As far as I know one of them was still standing well this all went down."

"Which one?"

"I think it was total career rushing yards."

"Pretty good."

"I'll say. I was always so many steps behind him. I always sort of wondered why he bothered to hang out with me. I made the team, but basketball was my sport. Too bad it wasn't anybody else's in school. Our team was awful."

Carl laughed a little.

"Did you know Shane wrestled, too? He took fourth place in the state championships our junior year."

"Huh. Really?"

"Yep. That put him in good position with the girls. He had them lined up just waiting to talk to him. More than the sports it was the girls that I envied him about."

Carl didn't say anything, and Rick wondered how much Carl knew.

"Well, let me take that back. I didn't really want any of the girls Shane had, but I was always envious of how easy it was for him with them. He was so smooth. He could, like, look at a girl from across the room and sure enough she'd walk over and hand him her panties."

Carl looked over and grinned, blushing a bit. He laughed and Rick joined him. "I know. I know. It was like he had a secret manual about how to get anyone he wanted. He even claimed that he slept with one of our teachers once."

Carl screwed up his face at that.

Rick laughed again. "Hey. You didn't know the teacher."

Carl laughed too and shook his head.

"I was just totally awkward and every time I opened my mouth something stupid came out. I'd be with Shane out somewhere and girls would come up to us – to him, of course – and I'd try to join in and I could see the girls roll their eyes at me and then wipe the drool off their chins when they talked to Shane."

"Drool, huh?"

"Yes, drool!"

"Whatever."

"The only girl that ever managed to look past Shane and see me was your mother."

Carl's face sobered.

"I honestly didn't believe it at first. I think for the first couple weeks I talked to her I kept askin' her if she wanted me to tell Shane something for her."

Carl smiled a little at his joke.

"But she never did. And then I had such a crush on her that I couldn't say five words to her without my voice cracking or getting a tent in my pants. I couldn't decide if I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me or if I wanted to kidnap her and hold her hostage on a desert island where I could have her all to myself."

They had made their way around the circumference of the inner yard and were standing at the entry again. Rick decided to make one more circuit.

"At the time I went to Shane for help. He had tried to help me get girls, giving me advice – most of which was utter crap." Rick laughed. "But with your mom, he never told me anything. I was mad at him for it. And then one day he finally got pissed back at me. You know what he said?"

Carl seemed to be paying very careful attention now, and indicated negative.

"He said, 'I'm an asshole, Rick. She's smart enough to know that. Why do you think she won't look at me? Anything I tell you will just drive her away. Stop asking.' And then he stomped off and wouldn't speak to me for a week. Meanwhile he started dating the hottest girl in the school, doing things in the hall that got them both dragged to the principal's office for lewdness."

Carl blinked up at him, and looked like he was thinking hard.

"Carl, how much do you know about your mom and Shane?"

"I don't want to talk about this."

"I know."

They were silent as they walked for a while.

"I would like you to tell me how much you know. And when you knew it."

Carl let out a harsh breath. "Fine. I knew something was really wrong between the three of you at the farm but I didn't know what. I was pissed at you and mom because whatever it was seemed to have made Shane ignore me and treat me like shit half the time, even though the other half of the time he paid way more attention to me than you did. He cared more." He stopped abruptly, as if he had only just heard what he'd said.

"He did care for you, Carl. He loved you. Probably too much, if that makes sense. He loved me. He loved your mother, too."

Carl cleared his throat. "Yeah. Too much, right?" His voice was ugly and bitter.

"They thought I was dead."

"Did they!?" Suddenly Carl was shouting. "Did Shane think you were dead? Or did he just tell us that? And why did it even matter? You and mom were going to get a divorce anyway! You fought all the time! You were looking for an excuse! She was looking for an excuse! Shane was looking for an excuse! Fuck you all! What did you think_ I_ was? And what about – ," and then Carl went silent. He face drained of color and his eyes got wide. He was staring at Judith. Then at Rick. He turned and began to run.

"Carl. Stop!" Rick's voice was a command. Much to his surprise, his son stopped. In his arms Judith jumped, waking, and he knew she was going to wail. "Get back here. We are going to face this together, like men. For your mother's sake," he was interrupted as Judith's cry rose up, "and for Judith's. Now come over here. She needs you." He paused. "We need each other."


	15. Protection

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Protection"**

"I said, we need you in this, Carl. Judith needs you. I need you."

Carl didn't know what to think first. Shane. His mom. Judith. His dad. Fuck. FUCK! God-fucking-dammit! All the rage was back and his skin was tight, his head pounding and he fists were out of his pockets. He couldn't breathe. He had known, though, hadn't he? It was the only logical thing. Why would Shane try to kill his dad? Why would his dad kill Shane? Why would his parents hate each other when Shane was dead? Why would his dad take off the ring? Of course he hated his mom! Of course he wouldn't have been able to look at Judith those first days! Of course of course of course of course –

He was pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait. Just wait, Carl."

"Wait!? _Wait_!? You drop this on me and tell me to wait!? I hate him! I hate her! I hate you! I –"

"No. You don't."

"I don't!?" He wrenched himself loose from Rick's grasp and whirled on him, spitting as he cursed. "Yes! I fucking do! They ran off and took me and left you in the hospital. And then you just let it all go!? You made us all watch at things fell apart? Not just me but the rest of the group! Why didn't you force him to go as soon as you came back?"

"Stop."

"No, I won't stop! This is fucking insane –"

"_Enough_." Rick's voice was hard, and Judith's cries rose higher. "You are scaring your sister, and you are saying things you don't mean and can't take back. I don't care if you want it to be black and white because it would be easier for you, Carl. Wanting something doesn't make it so. That was Shane's problem, and it drove him to what he did. It's also been my problem. And just so you know? Wanting things to be easy, black and white? _That's _kids' stuff."

That last stopped him. It slammed into his runaway thoughts like Daryl's fist had into his solar plexus earlier. All the built up velocity and force of his rant stuttered and then died.

"What?"

He watched as his dad comforted Judith, then astonishingly reached out and handed her over to him. He took her automatically, tucking the blanket in around her. The weight of his sister in his arms, as slight as it was rerouted his blood flow. The pounding drained out of his head as he attuned himself to her, listening to her tiny near-hiccups as she recovered from her startled crying. He rested his chin on top of her head and shushed her. He swayed slightly to the rhythm her heart beat against his shoulder.

"I wasn't man enough to fix things with your mother. She reached out to me. She loved me so much that she forgave me for the terrible thing I did, but I failed her. That is a hard thing to live with."

"But..."

"No, just wait. Ya see, Carl, I've been thinking about this for a long time. I think the thing that drove Shane to where he went was the fact that he was never able to live with what he did to me. That he mistook me for dead, that he left me, that he ended up betraying me." His father's face looked almost as old as Hershel's. "And he never had anyone forgive him."

Rick looked like he might cry, but he didn't. "And he made that mistake so much greater by hurting your mother, and you, and never finding a way to reconcile with that." Rick tuned his eyes to the clouds and inhaled for several moments. "He wanted it to be black and white. He wanted to kill or be killed, to protect you and your mom with no thought to anything or anyone else. But, Carl?" He bent down to make complete eye contact. "I wasn't a man worth your mother's love and forgiveness when I was operating that way. I was haunted, driven to the edge trying to hide from that fact."

Carl looked down at Judith. She had settled against him once more, but her eyes were still open. He looked back to his father. "I'm not sure I understand."

"When we were kids your mother saw something in me that she didn't see in Shane. Shane saw it, too. I didn't see it in myself until it was too late for me with either one of them, Carl. Keeping people alive isn't the same thing as keeping them 'safe.' Being 'protected' doesn't just mean 'not dead.'"

His dad looked down at his hand and played with the watch that swung loosely around his wrist as he talked. "Safety and protection is about being a person others can believe in. It's about living in a way that honors the trust people put in you. Sometimes it might even mean that there are ideas worth dying for and things we can't live with if we force ourselves to do them."

"This is why Hershel doesn't want me around Beth."

"What do you think, son?"

"He thinks I can't be trusted to protect Beth because I only think that means keeping her alive."

"Do you?"

"I...I'm not sure. You can't have anything at all if you aren't alive."

His dad creased his brow but nodded. "I can understand that. Have you ever heard the phrase 'a fate worse than death'?"

Carl had. "Yeah. So?"

Rick nodded again. "It's famous for a reason." He reached to take Judith from Carl. "Let me take her again. Would you like to watch her after supper?"

Carl scowled. "Yeah. Since I don't have anything else to do. I haven't been on watch rotation since the attack."

"That bothers you a lot, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because I can't protect anyone, and we are so much more vulnerable now! We need all the help we can get and suddenly you take me out of it? Like I'm some kid?"

"You are thirteen, Carl."

Carl glared at Rick. "We both know it's not the same as it was."

Rick met his glare with a neutral expression. "Yes. And for now _that's_ why I haven't put you back on rotation."

"It's about the kid, isn't it?"

"Yes." Rick didn't hesitate.

Carl glared at him again before looking away across the field and to the tree line. He knew where this was going. He wasn't stupid. But it was a lot. He wasn't through it all yet. Shane, who his dad was, who he was becoming? The kid, Beth, Judith, and then there were the things his mom had said to him before she died that he hadn't shared with anyone.

"Fine," he said, and he moved to let them back into C block.

"Carl."

"Yeah?"

"I meant what I said. We need you in this, Judith and I. We are going to talk more, and we are going to work on this. Do we understand each other?"

Carl looked to his boots, then to his sister, before slanting his eyes up through his scraggly bangs to his dad to agree.


	16. Piece

**Notes: I want to thank everyone for their follows, favorites, and reviews. I deeply appreciate them. I have a schedule that provides me freedom but also creates famine/feast conditions. As a result I don't keep to a predictable updating schedule, but I try to be sure I post several chapters at a time so you will find it worthwhile. I will do my very best to stay dedicated to the story and never abandon it, however. (Just as a promise, I have one additional chapter written, but I need to write at least one more between this and that before it can make narrative sense.)**

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Piece"**

He found her in her cell as promised. She had gathered a portable heater and several camping lanterns. Her bag also looked suspiciously full.

"Hey. I didn't realize it was going to be such an undertaking." He leaned against the frame of her cell door and gestured toward the gathered materials that were lined up next to the entrance.

Carol looked up from her mending and smiled at him. "Well, you know. It's getting chilly at night. I'm going to need to have your hair wet to do this, and I need to be able to see and feel my fingers to make sure I don't snip them off. Let me just tie this off and we can get going."

Rick chuckled. "No, I suppose we don't want that. Glenn tried to talk me out of getting rid of all this." He motioned over his hair. "I didn't realize that I had become the prison entertainment chairman. Who knew that all we needed to keep up morale around here was one skinny white guy with a funny hairdo?"

"Ha! Well, by tomorrow you'll be the handsome leading man again. Then Glenn can be comic relief. What were the two of you so busy talking about this afternoon?"

"Oh! That. He's got a plan that might snag us a fuel tanker truck."

Carol made an appreciative sound. "Wouldn't that be something. Where from?"

"Potentially from Woodbury. But it's not a sure thing. He and Maggie will do some scouting for it on their run in a couple days. If there's anything special you need don't forget to get it on Noah's list."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I think he's ready to ban me from the office with as often as I'm sneaking in there to add one more thing."

Rick laughed lightly at that, but sobered a bit. "How about you? I wanted to ask if something had happened today. When you came into the cell block this afternoon you seemed upset."

Carol looked at him quizzically.

"When you saw Glenn and me. You looked like you might have been crying." He hesitated. "Did you have a problem with Daryl?"

"Daryl? No." She looked confused. Then an idea dawned. "Well, only if you mean his part in Carl's injuries." She had finished with her task and rose from her bunk to settle the items away.

"Carl. Yeah, I did wonder if it was that. Did he end up upsetting you?"

She turned and stepped toward him reaching for her bag and one of the lanterns. "Could you get the heater and those other two? Thanks. Um, well, I don't like to see Carl so...lost." She rose and adjusted the items to carry. Rick had grabbed his. She wasn't making eye contact and seemed uncomfortable.

"What?" he asked.

Still she hesitated.

He sighed. "Carol, I know you don't want to break any confidences. I talked to Carl myself, so you don't have to worry about that. I'm really just asking about you." He waited, and she finally looked up. "You know, being everybody else's counselor is a tough job. Sometimes, I just – someone – It seems like it might be hard for you." He didn't know quite how to make himself understood. He finally shrugged. "I just wanted to offer." He took a breath. "Where are we headed with this?"

"To the laundry."

He raised an eyebrow.

She huffed out a laugh at his expression. "Go on! Get moving. It has a sink with running water and big windows. I'm hoping that some natural light will be let in. It's also private so that you won't draw a crowd of hecklers. I thought you might appreciate being able to pull a big reveal in the morning."

Rick turned and started walking along the catwalk toward the staircase. The two turned at the first floor and out toward the front of C. They'd have to pass across to the first floor of B to reach the laundry. During the day it was fairly active but in the evening the block was virtually abandoned.

Several people were out of their cells in the commons of C. Maggie and Glenn were talking with Stanley Nelson and his grandson Eli. Hershel was standing nearby chatting with several of the Woodbury residents who had obviously roused him from Glenn and Maggie's group. Sasha was playing cards with Michonne, Noah, and one of the Woodbury orphans. Shawn, he thought. Tyreese was providing some advice to the youngster, who didn't seem too keen to receive it. Rick smirked. From what he had gathered Tyreese was about as good with cards as he was with a rifle.

Carol murmured greetings to people as they passed and Rick acknowledged them as well. Soon enough they were outside and crossing the courtyard, Carol in the lead. The twilight was peaceful and Rick looked up to the guard tower and raised a hand toward Daryl. He received a wave in return, and noted that the other man watched them both as they moved toward B. At the entrance Rick set down his burden and unlocked the door, allowing Carol to pass through and maneuvering himself inside before locking it again.

"It sure echoes when it's empty. Kinda gives me the willies." Carol gave a playful shudder.

"Silent beats walker moans in my book any day," Rick said, and he saw her nod in agreement.

"About this afternoon," Carol started, "I...I was a little overwhelmed talking to Carl. It lead me to think about how Sophia would have dealt with all the changes in our lives." She hesitated, and her voice was soft when she continued. "With the changes...in her mom."

"What changes are you worried about?"

"Oh, you know." Carol's laugh sounded false.

"No. Please, tell me."

"Just that...that I think about killing walkers and – and even men. That I carry a gun. That I would have had to make her think about those things, too. That...I would have had to sacrifice so much of her in order to keep her safe and alive. That...," her voice choked off.

They had reached the laundry and Rick pushed the door open with his back allowing Carol to step inside. She put her bag and lantern on a work table, and he stepped up beside her to do the same. He placed a hand on her arm and turned her toward him.

"That what, Carol?" he asked quietly.

She looked up at him and there were unshed tears in her eyes. He reached up to hold her other arm as well, offering support. He gave her the slightest nod, and an encouraging look.

"That...that I'm not always sorry she died and didn't have to live with all of this!" When she finally let it out it burst from her, and pushed the tears from her eyes along with it. Rick pulled her into a hug and rubbed between her shoulder blades. He felt her arms come around him and grasp at his jacket.

"Shhh. I know. Jesus, do I know. Aw, Carol. I..." He reached a hand up to cradle the back of her head as she leaned into him. All he felt for Carl was right there again. "I'm sorry you have to miss her. And I'm so sorry you have to have to worry that you don't miss her right." He swayed slightly as he held her, soothing them both. "That's the most fucked up thing about all this. The way it makes all of the sense we know...knew...make no sense at all." He held her for several minutes until her breathing evened out.

He pulled away and looked down at her. Her cheeks were wet but the tears seemed to have ceased. He reached out with his right hand to wipe at the wetness with the back of his fingers. He rubbed her arm lightly with his left. When she raised her eyes to him he finally spoke. "You know what the amazing thing in all this is? You can hold all that in your heart and still find it in you to piece my son back together." He shook his head but didn't break his gaze. "You piece us all back together." He smiled. "And you still cut hair."

Carol smirked, then broke down and laughed leaning her forehead into him again. She smacked him lightly in the chest. He squeezed her again and kissed the top of her head. Her hair was soft against his lips and the feathery, curling ends tickled his nose. It smelled clean, like Ivory soap and sunshine. He wondered how he'd ever thought women needed anything else to be intoxicating.

He let his arms drop as she pushed away. "Would you light the heater? I'll get these lanterns set up. That sun is fading fast, and this water isn't going to be anything but cold I'm afraid."

"Yes, ma'am," he smiled back at her.

She pulled a pack of matches from her bag and snagged several for herself before passing it to Rick. He hefted the heater from the bench and settled it to the floor. As he worked to ensure its small propane tank was settled and the settings ready to light he heard her strike a match and the sounds of lantern globes shifting behind him.

When the heater was radiating nicely, he shifted from where he was kneeling to survey her set up. Carol had pulled a chair from behind one of the work benches over to the sink and set it at the edge. She had laid out one towel on the work bench next to the sink and another on the back of the chair. A bottle of shampoo and a large plastic glass were ready on the small ledge next to the faucet controls. She'd taken off her jacket, rolled up the sleeves of her purple pullover, and was currently rooting around in her bag. She gave a triumphant sound and pulled out a comb and scissors from it and set them on the workbench next to one of the lanterns.

"Ready, sir?"

"I guess," he said, shaking his head.

"Don't be so worried. I'll have you looking sharp. Now, off with your jacket and your shirt. I need to give that head a good scrubbing."

Rick stepped over to the bench and peeled off his jacket. He laid it down carefully, away from the lanterns, and then went to unbuttoning his plaid, long-sleeved shirt. He wasn't generally shy, but he did feel glad that he'd worn an undershirt against the cooling temperatures. Setting the button-up aside but leaving the white tee on he said, "Good enough?"

Carol smirked. "Perfect. Now, straddle over the back here and lean in. Since the water is so cold I'll try not to keep you under too long."

Rick faced the back of the chair and sat, lacing his fingers together around, under the towels. He leaned over and in toward the sink. Carol turned on the water and ran the cup full. "Ok, brace yourself!" she warned before dousing his head.

Rick gasped as the icy water hit his scalp and ran down past his ears. "Only two more I think. Sorry!" Carol couldn't quite hide the amusement in her voice. She filled the cup and doused him once, twice more, then shut off the tap. "Just stay over the sink and drip a second." Rick heard her grab the bottle of shampoo and a telltale squirt. Then her hands were in his hair.

Rick wasn't exactly sure what he expected when Carol first threaded her fingers into his soaked hair, but whatever he could have anticipated it would not have equaled what he experienced.

Rick was used to having his hair washed by women. Lori had arranged for the whole family to see Emmy Fields for their cuts. Emmy was a childhood friend of Lori's, and 5'2" of the sassiest, sexiest, 200 pounds of female flesh Georgia had ever produced. She had long fingernails that she kept painted kick-yer-ass pink, and she had the biggest hair Rick had ever seen. She teased Rick mercilessly when he came in about whatever gossip she'd heard – or made up – about the sexual prowess of the police force. She'd purr in his ear while she massaged his cranium. He usually left at a run and blushing, vowing he would never return.

Carol spread the soap through his hair. When the lather was thoroughly worked in and he expected another dunking she surprised him by moving her hands to the base of his neck. She pressed tentatively at the cords, feeling for his reactions and identifying where he was most tense and sore. Then, gently but firmly, she began to work up from his neck toward the top of his head, using small circular strokes that eased around the connective tissue that wrapped under his scalp. Again and again she returned to the base his neck, each time testing to see where the sensitivity was greatest, stroking upwards and lifting it away. From the back of his neck she worked around each side following his hair line. She spent considerable time where the muscles of his jaw carried up onto his head. He could feel the tension he'd been carrying for days draining away as she worked. The shampoo had a very light, neutral scent – something herbal, but not flowery. It was refreshing, and he lolled over the back of the chair.

"Rick, hey, don't fall asleep on me now," Carol said in a soft voice.

"Hnn. That feels amazing, Carol. How did you know how to do that?"

He heard her make that sweet, amused sound of hers. "It's my secret technique. But, I'm about ready to rinse again. I'm sorry but it's going to be cold."

Rick groaned. He was so relaxed and so warm. "Noooo. Please, Carol."

She laughed out loud then. "Sorry, but I have to. Ready?" She turned on the tap and he could hear the water filling.

"Alright." He grumbled under his breath and braced himself. The water poured over him and chilled him again. Still, he felt really good. He felt her reach over him and then the towel around his head.

"You can towel dry for a bit and turn your chair around."

When Rick had dried his hair enough to clear his eyes he spied Carol bent over the heater warming her hands. She'd pulled her sleeves back down and was scuffing her fingers together briskly. She stood up and turned to him. "Go ahead and pull your chair over and we'll get started."


	17. Pried

**Notes: The chapter title is not a spelling error ;). It is the past tense of "pry," not the description of self-reverence.**

**To Guest Reviewer from 5/16/13: Thank you so much for reading, and for your generous words! I really wish I could send you a personal response.**

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Pried"**

The thing of it was, Rick's hair was nearly twice as long again as it looked because it was curly. When Carol actually went to comb it out in order to make the first cut, she broke down in a fit of laughter when it finally unfurled to its full, glorious extension.

"Stop it! You're going to give me a complex!" Rick said, turning to side-eye her.

She brought the back of the hand holding the scissors to her mouth to try to stifle her giggles. "I'm sorry. It's just...even – aha! – more...lush...than I thought!" She bit her lip to try to choke off the fit, but it wasn't working.

Rick was smiling, too, and he laughed at her laughing. "Would you just get to it? And why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess I just wanted to see if maybe you could have a whole glam rocker thing going. Like Slash from Guns 'n Roses?"

"Um. I should pretend I know who that is so as not to subject myself to more of your ridicule, shouldn't I?"

That set her off again. "Yes! Unfortunately, yes! How about Kenny G?"

"Oh, God. Him I remember. You really had to do that. You know how to bruise a man's ego."

She was laughing so hard her stomach hurt. Rick was trying to maintain a hurt look complete with puppy eyes and failing. He finally lost it and laughed heartily along with her.

"Oh! Okay, okay. Now, let me try this again," she said, after catching her breath. She was going to end up cutting off a good six to eight inches. It was going to be a challenge. She was not a cosmetologist. She just hoped she got it even and didn't do anything he would regret.

She worked in silence for several minutes, simply removing large amounts of length. The room was filled with the glow of the lanterns and the heater was performing well. The "snip" of the shears formed a surprisingly pleasant rhythm. It occurred to her that Rick's head was well formed. Then it occurred to her how absurd it was for such a thing to occur to her. She smirked at her own thoughts and decided it was time for some conversation.

"So, you said you spoke with Carl. Does that mean he actually spoke back to you?"

Rick let out a sigh. "Yes."

Carol was surprised when he didn't elaborate. After her own talk with the Carl, she had hoped that father and son would take some time together. She knew that the relationships that parents had with others weren't always a predictor of how they could interact with their own children, but she had found it difficult to understand why a man like Rick seemed unable to find his way in with Carl. She had observed their uneasy truce and outright hostility toward one another since the Woodbury attack and brokered peace a time or two.

"Do you mind if I ask how it went? If you'd rather not I underst-,"

He answered almost too quickly. "No, no, it's fine. I was just trying to decide how to describe it. I think we started something. When I saw him choose to take that beating from Daryl today, I knew that something had been wrong a lot longer than I'd guessed. I didn't even try to talk to him about the fight. It hit me today that I had never talked to him about what happened between me and Lori." She felt him tense under her hands. She stilled, uncertain if he would move unexpectedly. Then, it was as if his whole bearing collapsed. "And Shane."

Carol set aside the comb and scissors and dropped her hands to the rough towel that she'd draped around his shoulders. She rested them there for a few moments, then grasped a deltoid in each hand and began to knead. Rick stretched and adjusted under her grip and leaned back.

"God, Carol. It may be the hardest thing I've ever had to say out loud." She could hear the strain in his voice. It rasped slightly. "It was such a mess. They write about 'love triangles' and all, but I'd never thought there could be something like that – where I could love my wife, and my best friend, and they love each other, and then to nearly hate them, and then have them hate each other and me, and to still not be able to banish that love. Then there was Carl and Judith?"

He had leaned back into her hands and closed his eyes. She was looking down into his face and could see the lines of pain drawn there. His voice was now hoarse with unshed tears. "And that was me. Imagine for Carl. He loved Shane, and me and his mother. And he hated us, too. He knew what was going on more than he realized. And he was the one who had to put both Shane and his mother down."

Rick had choked on the last word and a tear leaked out of his right eye. He reached up to swipe it away. "He's a child. Was a child. But he's not yet an adult because he doesn't have the same buffers we do." He opened his eyes and looked up at her. When he spoke it was nearly a whisper. "It scares the hell out of me that he might _never_ have them, now. There's no way, no time, just...How do I help him create that – that part of us that we dip into to stay human, Carol?"

She slipped a hand from his shoulder and brushed her knuckles against his temple. If only he and Carl could see each other as she saw each of them: two souls equally fragile and resilient, so alike and tragically beautiful. She had to swallow hard to keep herself from tearing up. No, he needed her now as she had needed him before.

"It isn't something you can do alone, Rick. You are his father, but the change in the world means a change in how those reserves will have to get made. I have a part to play, and so does Daryl, and Beth, and Glenn, Maggie, Judith, even Hershel. Although Carl can't or won't see it now, Albert, Regina, Tildy, Ericka and her little ones, all the people from Woodbury are going to have a part to play. And if it's going to be right? Then the Shane that Carl loved and Lori are going to have to be there, too. I think you started in exactly where you needed to." She smiled at him, and tried to let him see in her eyes what he couldn't hear in her words.

Of their group, it had turned out to be Rick who managed to carve out space for her to speak and not only to listen. She felt loved and valued by all of them. Daryl had helped her feel safe and feminine. Carl and Beth had helped her feel wise and needed. Glenn and Maggie had helped her feel stable and distinct. But it was Rick who had accomplished something unique. He had made her feel like a cherished equal. He would be able to do that for his son with their help.

Rick closed his eyes and turned toward her hand. She opened it so he could rest his cheek in her palm. The gesture was suddenly intimate and her heart jumped erratically, then quickened. The planes of his face were etched sharply now that they all carried no extra weight. He had greyed significantly since she'd met him both in his beard and over his ears. She found it attractive. His lips were suggestively full, and she darted her eyes away when she felt herself blush slightly at the thought. She caressed her thumb lightly over his temple and said quietly, "I really should finish this."

He kept his eyes closed but nodded and sat up. She gave his shoulders several last squeezes and then retrieved her comb and scissors. The main length was off, and now it was time to be sure she'd shaped it generally to the contours of his head. It was also time for new conversation.

"At lunch you sounded like there might be something else besides Carl you wanted to talk about."

Rick cleared his throat. She combed and cut, combed and cut. Rick shifted in his seat. Carol wondered what might be making him uncomfortable. "Well?"

He cleared his throat a second time. "I, uh, I think I know what might have set Carl off."

"What's that?"

"I lost my wedding ring."

"Oh. I did notice it was missing."

"I'm afraid everyone did before I did," he said ruefully.

"And that upset Carl?"

"He's really sensitive to symbols. I feel pretty shitty about it, too." He paused, and shifted in his seat again. Carol stepped to his left side to trim around and above his ear. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

She stepped around to the right to do the same. "Of course, Rick. Shoot."

"How soon – I mean, when...did you stop wearing your ring?"

Carol stood up and placed the hand with the comb to the small of her back, stretching. "Ah, let's see. Once I started training with the rifle I decided to take it off. I mostly didn't think about it before then, but when I was raising my hand into my line of sight all the time? I just didn't want to look at it."

Rick hesitated, dropping his eyes, then looking back up to her cautiously. "Was that when you and Daryl...I mean, are you two...?"

Carol raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Daryl and I? Ah, no." She looked down at her feet, then stepped back behind him, trimming the top more closely.

"Sorry, if I, ah –,"

"No, no. It's ok. We just...," she sighed. She knew that people wondered about them and the gossip chain was intensely interested. Part of her wanted Rick to know and part of her wanted to guard Daryl's privacy as ferociously as Daryl did.

"We aren't together...like that. We won't be. He and I are friends that love each other but not lovers."

"Carol, really. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried. It's not my business."

"Keep your head still, deputy! And don't worry. Just, please don't make it _public_ business. He would hate that."

"Is everything alright? I mean, with you two?" He sounded sincerely concerned.

She laughed lightly. "Yes, Rick." She heard him mutter something but she couldn't make it out. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Hey. Remember I have a cutting implement in my hand!"

It was his turn to laugh. "Alright! Alright! I said 'fool.' Daryl's a fool."

She stepped around him and smiled broadly. "Why, Rick, are you flirting with me?"

"Maybe. Would that be unwelcome?" He was smiling back at her, and his eyes had her heart racing again.

She tipped her chin down and looked at him through the tops of her lashes before looking away. She brought her eyes back to his, and tilted her head to the side. She was a little shocked at how sultry her voiced sounded when it came out. "Not at all. Let's see how this trim turned out."


	18. Pink

**Notes: I'll just say this – writing the fight scene with Daryl and Carl was so much easier than describing a kiss. This is the first one I've ever done, so please be gentle.**

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Pink"**

Carol was crouched before him, perched on her toes but balanced on her haunches. She had a hand on each side of his face testing the shorn hairs above his ears for evenness. Her palms rested on his cheeks as her fingers threaded through his hair. Even in the low light of the lanterns her eyes shone blue. They darted back and forth from side to side judging her work.

It was really the pink that did it. That tiny, glistening tip of her tongue that peeked out like a secret she was teasing him with but still holding back between her lips. As she concentrated on the cut, it had slipped out at the corner of her mouth, tempting him for a second before darting back in. He blinked, not sure he'd seen it at first. Then it was back, barely visible but sliding just in sight along her bottom lip, wetting it.

God. Rick had not expected something so innocent to flicker his desire to life. As he glanced at her eyes again, he knew she was completely unaware she'd even done it. The spark caught hold. Her lack of awareness made it all the more sensual, almost like he was observing something forbidden. And there it was again! That pink promise at the other corner of her smile. She bit her lip. Oh, good lord!

All it took was a slight nudge with his right knee. He wasn't even sure he'd decided to do it, that he'd consciously done it at all. But she was put just enough off balance to shift forward onto her knees. To catch herself she placed her right hand on his shoulder and her left had dropped onto his bicep. He'd instantly raised his hands up the few inches from where they'd been resting on his thighs to steady her by palming her on her ribs just above the waist. He pressed both knees in towards her for further support. They now pinned her hips.

The surge forward had put them at eye level, and hers were wide in surprise, pupils slightly dilated. Her lips were parted as she took in a tiny gasp of shock. He couldn't stop himself from staring at them, wanting so badly to go after her daring pink tongue. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look back to her eyes.

She blinked at him, and her breathing had picked up. She looked questioningly at him for a long moment and then it happened: her eyes cut to his lips. He hadn't imagined it. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath, but he found himself needing oxygen. She was warm under his hands, and he could feel her tremble slightly. She squeezed his bicep through the damp towel and slowly, so slowly, began to inch her right hand back toward his neck. It was what he was waiting for, what he needed.

He slid his left hand up until it rested just below the swell of her breast and slid his right down toward her waist. Her shirt had ridden up with her arms raised and he found the ribbon of bare skin between its hem and her belt. Following it, he skimmed his hand around until he was able to rest all his fingers along the dip of her spine, barely touching her skin's surface. This was delicate, and so was she. He drew his left hand away from her ribs just a bit and allowed the swell of her breast to rest on the web between his index finger and thumb. It had been so very long since he'd felt such soft fullness.

He pressed at her spine with his fingertips, his touch barely stronger than a caress. If she wanted to ignore the signal or wanted to back away he wouldn't pressure her. But he _wanted_ her closer. He wanted permission to discover the pink secret that her tongue could reveal to him. He wanted to feel the weight of her breast in his palm and its peak under his thumb.

Maybe more than any of that, he wanted Carol to pull _him _to her. The thought that this woman might press herself against him and grab at his neck to get _him_ nearer had his skin heating and his pulse rising. He wanted to be the man she could trust that much. He wanted to be the man she wanted to be held by.

Her hand was still moving towards his neck over the rough material of the towel. She hadn't moved forward, but she also hadn't moved away. Under his fingertips it felt as if the temperature of her skin was rising. At the neckline of her shirt he could see the skin of her cleavage becoming rosy, a blush creeping up her chest. He closed his eyes against it. That was one of his triggers. Christ, to see arousal written on a Carol's skin...and he hadn't even...

He felt it then, the tightening in his lower abdomen warning him that the heat he'd felt in his blood was reaching his cock. With his jeans constricting him it wouldn't embarrass him too badly, but that didn't mean that there weren't consequences. This was wasn't just a reaction. This was arousal in response to something more than physical. He swallowed hard again and had to remind himself to breathe.

He opened his eyes and looked deep into hers. He wished he could tell what he was seeing there. She looked...uncertain. Not exactly afraid, but not clearly happy, there was desire but something else, too. He leaned in and gingerly touched his forehead to hers. His eyes slipped closed as hers did. He tried to slow his breathing. Whatever had spiked here had happened too quickly.

"I...are you alright?" he asked, his voice husky. "This took me by a little by surprise."

She breathed for a few moments. Then, "Me, too. I, ah, hmm..." She stopped.

"Do I need to apologize?"

She shook her head against his. "No."

"Good." He could feel her laughter under his hands where they still rested on her, though he didn't hear it. "It isn't just me, is it?"

She moved. Her right hand made it to the back of his neck. She shifted forward so that she was aligned against his torso and her mouth tantalizingly at his ear. "No."

He inhaled sharply as his whole body became an organ of touch in an instant.

"But."

His stomach dropped and the hand on her back he was about to deploy in exploration stayed still.

"Today has me so mixed around." She turned into his neck then, and in that moment the sexual tension they had shared melded back into the deep affection he felt for her. It was natural and it felt right to adjust with her to a mutual, comforting embrace. "I don't want it to be too much or too little for...this." She pulled back and sought his eyes. "Do you...?"

He understood. "No. Uh, yes. I...I mean, I get it."

She smiled at him and started to move back into the embrace.

Before she could his voice stilled her. "But, I–," he knew he sounded desperate or maybe a little pathetic, but he didn't care, "I don't want to ignore it. Carol, if you...don't want...," he shifted his gaze from her eyes, "if I'm not – ," he let out a frustrated sigh, "just please, tell me."

She hadn't said anything, and he sought out her eyes again, worried he'd gone too far. But he saw mischief there and a little demon flirting in her smile. He had an odd moment of anxiety as she leaned back into his embrace.

And then he felt it: the tiny flame of her tongue wicking up a cord on his neck from the ribbed collar of his t-shirt to the lobe of his ear. It was so slight it could have been his imagination. But it wasn't. Her voice was low and her breath hot in his ear, "I think you are."

"Carol!" he hissed, low and quiet, all the arousal back with pounding immediacy. Fucking hell, _that_ was the secret she'd been hiding! He pulled her full flush against him this time, and let her feel exactly what that little stunt had done to him. "That was...," he was breathing wasn't even, "not the way to get me to back off."

"Do I need to apologize?"

"No. Maybe."

She pulled away enough to meet his eyes. "Alright." She leaned in and kissed him.

It was neither the chaste kiss of a woman turning down the heat to end an encounter nor the hungry kiss set to prolong what she'd just started. He might have predicted either, but it wasn't. It was maybe like...reading a good story – one that leads you to something but lets you feel like you discovered it all on your own.

The angle was off a little, and it took him a few moments to adjust to her. He was surprised that she used her tongue even when her lips were hardly open. She lapped at him with the tip of it as she pressed in, and used it to help apply small suctioning kisses, almost as if she were giving him a hickey on his mouth. He tried to catch her tongue between his lips and he felt her ease back slightly and smile against him. He took the initiative then and followed her mouth, capturing it. He brought his left hand to the back of her neck to hold her steady where he wanted her. Then he teased her back, sucking on her lips in tiny bits. She caught on quickly, then shifted under him and there was her tongue again. She applied that tiny suction back to him and suddenly this was kissing like he'd never done before. It was heat and sensation and intensity all at that hot, wet point between them. He hadn't even been inside her mouth - just her lips had become _everything_. He flicked out his tongue to meet hers and it changed again.

Carol broke contact to take a quick, deep breath, and her mouth was back and so was that tongue, sharing more pink promises with him. One of her hands had fisted in the towel at his shoulder and pulled it off. The other slid into the short hairs at the back of his neck. This time he was the one that smiled against her. He was suddenly very glad she'd finished the cut before they started this. He felt what might have been laughter rise in his chest. Kissing hadn't been this fun since he was Carl's age. It was not something he would describe as perfect by any means, but it seemed to him exactly what he should be doing at that moment.

When they drew apart he looked at her, taking a moment just to _see_ her again. It seemed like there was always something more to find. He knew he was grinning foolishly, but she looked pretty happy, too. He found he had to clear his throat before he could speak. "That didn't feel sorry."

"I don't think it was."


	19. Scripture

**Notes: The next two chapters are short, as they are transitional. I thought "better some than none." I make no claims to be an expert in scripture, or that my interpretation of the verses is accurate. But, it seemed to me that if one wanted to engage in a serious argument about ethics with Hershel, this is how one would need to go about it. Also, this seemed to me how Beth would be able to help him truly see her as an adult. Also, I almost called this chapter, "Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...".**

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Scripture"**

"No, Beth. You know how I feel about this. I don't want you spending time alone with that boy."

Hershel was worried for his child. He had seen the way Carl Grimes followed his youngest daughter with his eyes. It might have been long ago but Hershel had not forgotten what it meant to be a young man feeling those urges for the first time, watching a beautiful girl, hearing her voice, thinking of her in the dark night with his hand snaked down his shorts. Boys that age were not thinking about respect and caring for the needs of another human being – of protecting the soul of a woman and her gentle spirit. Beth was a precious being, and Carl Grimes was no Glenn Rhee.

Beth turned and looked on her father with wide eyes. "Daddy, how much have you spoken to Carl in the past few months?"

"How much has anyone?" he scoffed. "The boy has been meaner than a rattlesnake to the whole lot of us. He stares daggers at the Woodbury people. He disrespects his own father in front of everyone." He stared hard at her. "Did you hear that he goaded Daryl into a fist fight today? He's a danger to himself and others, Bethie. Ever since – "

" – he shot that boy," she finished the sentence with him. "Yes, daddy, we've talked about that before. Have you spoken with Carl about it?"

"Have you?" he shot back.

Beth looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. "Well...yes, I...I have."

Hershel's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, really. When did he stop cursing long enough to speak civilly to you?"

She looked up quickly through her lashes at him and her eyes were hard. "Alright, Daddy, that's enough. It's un-Christian, and you know it. Mark 2:17."

Hershel thought quickly. _"On hearing this, Jesus said to them, 'It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.'"_ He took a breath. Well, she was right on the scripture.

"I talked with him today," she said, her eyes still hard.

"And what did he have to say for himself?"

She shook her head. "That's between him and who he chooses to share it with."

"What?" Hershel felt his anger rising. Carl was a child. Not only did he owe his elders the respect he'd been withholding, he should have been asking for their help all along.

"How did you treat Rick when he was dealing with Lori? or Daryl when he came back from Merle? Or Carol not coming to bury Sophia? All of them acted different than you wanted."

"That is not the same thing at all, Beth. They didn't murder someone in cold blood."

"Is that what he did?"

Hershel had been standing next to the bunks in the cell they shared, balancing on one crutch and holding onto the beds with his other hand. He nearly lost his footing as the words left his daughter's mouth. He was speechless to respond.

"How are we to know, Daddy? The bible says that whatsoever we bind here on earth we bind in heaven. But how do we know exactly _how_ we are supposed to deal with situations like walking corpses? Even the wars described in the Old Testament aren't like the ones we face against threats like The Governor. He killed all his own people because he's insane! It seems to me that the best we've got to help us through this is Romans 3:23: _'For everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God's glorious standard.'_"

Beth stepped forward then, and laid a hand on his cheek. "Daddy, I am not doing anything with Carl that should worry you. I'm going to _talk_ to him. He promised to tell me about the fight with Daryl. I can't fix him, and I'm not going to try. But he needs to talk to somebody. I think he needs to talk to God, but I can't make him. You know he needs to come to that for himself. I've been praying about this for a long time, and asking for guidance. I came across 2nd Peter 3:9 last night when I was reading. I think this is right."

With that, she turned and moved to the door of their cell. He still hadn't said anything. He couldn't. He was looking not at his little girl, but at a woman. He saw her mother in her eyes and her step-mother in the way she held her shoulders. Behind that he saw the strength of his Lord shining around her. He had known it was happening, but when had it all come to this? When had she transformed? Was he in the room? Had he blinked and missed it? Now he stayed silent for a different reason, the sudden turn-about a shock to his system.

When she was gone it took several minutes before Hershel came back to himself and sat heavily on his bunk. It was several more before he reached for his Bible. He could not recall 2nd Peter 3:9 from memory. He paged through the New Testament until he found it._ "The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering toward us, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance."_


	20. Nudged

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Nudged"**

She had asked Rick to head back first so she could clean up and collect herself. She had managed to collect the clippings and was planning to toss them over the fence for the birds. She chuckled. It really was quite an impressive pile. She scooped the trimmings into a make-shift dust pan she'd folded out of a discarded piece of cardboard and set it aside. She'd dispose of in in the morning since tomorrow was laundry day. She replaced the chair and rinsed off her scissors and comb. She dried them quickly before repacking them, along with the shampoo and towels back into her bag.

She looked around the laundry one last time while donning her coat. She hoped she had everything. The light of the last remaining lantern was quite dim. She shrugged mentally. Anything left could wait for tomorrow. She buttoned up and slid the strap of her bag around her neck and across her torso, settling it into place. Carol grabbed the lantern and headed out.

She pushed the door to the courtyard open and listened to it scrape shut. She made sure it closed fully and then looked up toward the watch tower. She could see Daryl's figure framed against the starlight. She had planned to stop up and ask him to lock B for her. She let out the breath she'd been holding. She should also talk to him about tonight. She didn't want it to come from anyone else, not even Rick. She didn't know exactly what _it _was yet, but it was certainly _something_. And if the little taste she'd gotten was any indication, it was something that was going to heat up quickly and sneak up when she didn't expect it.

The kissing had been sweet and sensual all at the same time. Rick had been intuitive, seeming to pick up on her rhythms and responding them. She had been surprised. She didn't even know she had rhythms for kissing, that there was a pace and a pressure that she liked. Kissing had been perfunctory for so long. Ed hadn't been a bad kisser, he just didn't do it often and then eventually they had stopped altogether even before things went bad. She and Daryl had been so hurried with uncertainty and fear of interruption that they had hardly had the time. Rick hadn't been in any rush. He had smiled against her, followed her lead, then experimented and allowed her to follow his. She touched her fingertips to her lips. She could still feel him there. It had been fun and exciting. Most of all, it had been promising.

He had nudged her off balance, somewhere between meaning to and not meaning to. As she had held herself there inches from his face, she'd been confronted by what had been building for longer than she'd realized. Maybe it was the confirmation that she and Daryl weren't together than had prompted Rick. Maybe it was his reckoning with Carl and Lori that spurred him. It didn't matter. Things had shifted and realigned and she was glad. She hadn't felt nervous or self-conscious when she'd pressed against him to push the boundary. Maybe it had been his voice when he'd asked her to tell him what she wanted. It had been so clear that _he knew_, that _he wanted_ something by the tone – and of course there was what she'd felt distinctly against her through his jeans. It had made her throb reflexively to know so clearly. Not having to guess was maybe the biggest turn-on of the encounter. She pressed a hand to her cheek where she felt her skin heating again at the thought.

She pushed the thoughts back, and looked up to the tower. It was time for something else first.


	21. Still Here

**Notes: I thank everyone again for follows, faves and reviews. I really appreciate hearing from readers if you find something that you respond to. I especially appreciate it because it allows me to respond to you personally, to thank you and also because I'm chatty ****. I also want to reiterate that I don't have a predictable update schedule, but that I am committed to the story, and that I typically try to post several chapters at a time to make it worthwhile.**

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Still Here"**

He knew when they left C, he knew how long they'd been in B, and he knew when Rick had left. He heard the door to B scrape open the second time when she came out with her lantern bobbing down by her leg. He knew she hesitated by the door for awhile, but he knew she'd be coming to talk to him. More than anything he knew what she was going to say. Most of all Daryl knew that it would hurt.

Her steps were slow on the stairs but light as always. How many times had she brought him a meal or slipped up in the middle of a night watch? Sometimes they didn't talk much before she left again, but it was always the best part of being alone up there – being together with her. He hoped it wouldn't change. The thought that it would left him feeling like there was a piece missing from under his ribs, like a part of his torso was suddenly gone. He rubbed at it absently through his poncho. It didn't help.

The hinges creaked like always as she stepped through. He didn't look. Then he did. She gave him the small smile that said she noticed and she knew he knew. Fuck. He looked back out. Why hadn't it just _worked_? Why had it been too hard? Why did he still want it? Why did he want her happy more?

"Busy night."

She could always do that – start things out light. He liked her so much for it. He nodded to the fence. "I think that one's kinda a Romeo. Seems ta be drawin' the ladies." There had been a strange alignment of the walkers that afternoon. For some reason they had grouped by gender on either side of the access road, with all the former males save one on the west and all the former females with the lone walker in a three piece suit sporting a charred face and right hemisphere of his body on the east.

Carol laughed lightly as she surveyed the scene below. Then, "Every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man."

He scoffed. "Heh. Didn't figure you fer a ZZ Top groupie."

She smiled more broadly. "Sucker for a great beard," she said, then she looked down shyly. "Why do you think I like you so much?" She leaned over and bumped his shoulder.

He smirked and bumped her back. "Not enough." It wasn't angry or sad, just a statement of fact. She met his eyes and the way she tightened her lips showed him that she understood exactly what he meant.

Their arms were still touching and it was nice. They leaned together for several minutes just being there. He wondered if she wasn't going to tell him after all. Daryl hoped she would as much as he hoped she wouldn't. The knowing and the not were both bad. Part of him wanted to make her say it, to force it out of her, like setting a dislocated joint. The pain would be fierce but then you could use it again.

"S'pose Carl came to ya ta get fixed up t'day."

He felt her nod. "He's going through some tough things. You gave him a nasty black eye."

"He's lucky that's all he got. S'lucky I's the one who did it."

"Why's that?"

"'Cause anybody else would'a meant it, and he'da really got hurt."

Carol turned to face him and her eyes were squinted, questioning.

"I let 'im feel it, but I didn't do no permanent damage. He needed to work off his temper. Needed ta see it weren't gonna get 'im anywhere."

She gave him a smile that said "it takes one to know one."

He smirked back. "Yeah, I know. Comin' from me..."

She laughed, and her eyes said she loved him. He knew what that look meant from her now. Something that he hadn't realized was knotted tight inside uncoiled. She still loved him. God, he still loved her. Maybe it was going to be alright.

Nodding toward B block he said, "What'd Rick have to say 'bout it all?"

Carol's eyes flashed for a second but it was long enough to catch the nerves there. She was worried about telling him. He steeled himself. He would need to be careful. He could not screw this up. She might not be where he _wanted_ her, but he _needed_ her close.

"I think it started them talking. It's...good if you can believe that." She looked him deep in the eyes, the way she had that connected them. He let her. Daryl wanted her to know he wasn't, he couldn't turn away. "You did something really important for them, Daryl. I don't think they...any of us can be connected to each other without you."

He swallowed hard. There were tears in her eyes. She was asking him to let her, wasn't she? How could she ask him that? Fuck. And how could he ever say no to what she needed from him? His whole chest hurt. Carol's eyes were still locked with his. He couldn't look away even as he shook his head. He reached up and slid his hand behind her neck and slipped his fingers into the short curls.

"I..." His voice failed him. He stroked his thumb against the silken skin of her neck, and a tear slipped from her eye as if the motion has squeezed it out. He couldn't watch it happen. "Don't," he choked out.

"Daryl, I..."

"Shhh." He bent and placed a kiss on her forehead and pulled back, looking down at her again. This time he bent to kiss her lips. It was probably the last one. He wanted her to know how much he cherished her, how much he wanted for her, and how good he hoped this would be for her. She was sweet under his lips and he pulled away before he wanted to.

Daryl let his hand fall away and he opened his eyes. He hoped it was enough. Carol's eyes were still closed but she reached her hand up and placed it on his poncho over his heart. She reached forward and fumbled around until he realized she was feeling for his hand and he gave it to her. She pulled it up and placed his hand over her heart.

"Still here," she said. "This doesn't change."

He tried to say something but he couldn't get anything out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No."

Carol opened her eyes and looked up at him. She gave him a small smile and he did his best to return it. "Okay," she said as she nodded, seeking to reassure herself.

With his free hand he reached up and held hers in place. He nodded once. "You'll still come bother me on watch, wontcha?"

"Always."

"It'll be fine then."

"If we want it to, it will."


	22. Falling Out

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Falling Out"**

It was strange how the world now required things that Carl had only seen in book illustrations for frontier stories. When he was six or seven his mom had read him a couple _Little House on the Prairie_ books. At first he'd complained because it was all girl-stuff, but really it was pretty interesting to learn about how people did things before electricity and cars and everything. They had finally replaced Judith's "Li'l Asskicker" postal bin with an actual bed. It was basically a wooden box attached atop half-moon pieces of wood on either end so it could be rocked gently. One of the old guys from Woodbury, Ropati Lasu-something-or-other, had worked it up. The crib looked like one of the pictures in the books his mom had read to him. Ro-La was a dark-eyed, dark-skinned, rather short man with a thatch of unruly white hair but no beard whatsoever. He must have been pretty portly before food became so hard to come by. Carl thought he kind of resembled one of those wrinkle dogs that were born with all those extra folds of skin. Carl smiled to himself. Ro-la had probably been roll-y once upon a time. Now all the loose hanging skin made him look sad, like the dogs, even if he wasn't. Like most of the Woodbury residents he avoided Carl, and Carl avoided him. But, from what Carl could tell, the man was usually in very good spirits and seemed to have struck up a solid friendship with Hershel. Maybe he'd ask Beth what she thought of him. Maybe he could thank him for the crib.

Carl had brought Judith's bed, his lantern, and the supplies to soak his eye out onto the catwalk. His cell was on the second floor of D, near the far end, with the other "single guys." Daryl and Noah were his closest neighbors, and neither of them were in their cells at the moment. Farther down were Tyreese, that short little guy from Woodbury, then Shawn Kothe, and the Nelsons. With the exception of Daryl and himself, the guys mostly stayed in the common areas in their free time. Carl was just fine with that. He was glad that he'd have more time with Beth and Judith, and he didn't want to have to think about other people. Staying out on the walk was wisest. If Hershel decided to come nosing around there wouldn't be anything to make him suspicious, and if Carl was honest, he liked the more open space when he had it mostly to himself.

He really hoped Beth was going to come. She'd said she was at dinner, but her dad hadn't looked happy to see them sitting together. Carl frowned. Why did Hershel have to be with him that day when he had to kill that kid from Woodbury? Why couldn't the old man understand what was so obvious? Carl could feel the familiar grind of anger starting in his jaw. He closed his eyes. He didn't want that. He really, really didn't.

Today it felt like a week had gone by. He didn't think he'd talked so much in his whole life. It had been pretty shitty for the most part. But there was that whole wolf thing, and Daryl hadn't been mad after all and was going to help him learn some stuff. But mostly it had been _different_. It had felt _different_. There had been whole long periods when he had felt like he remembered things used to be, when everything wasn't always hot and hard and red inside his skull. Even when he'd been getting pounded into the pavement it had been a relief, because there was not that awful pressure sucking his eyes back into his head and closing off his ears. The last time he remembered feeling something else was so long ago. It was back when his mom...before he'd...

Suddenly he missed his mom so much he thought he might hurl. He reached into her bed and pulled Judith to him. He held her close, as he wished he could hold his mom...or that she could hold him. Jude had been nearly asleep, and she fussed at his sudden disturbance. Carl rocked his tiny sister back and forth to comfort her. Fuck! He was lying to himself. He was doing it so she could comfort him.

"_You promise me you'll always do what's right? It's so easy to do the wrong thing in this world. So if it feels wrong, don't do it, alright? _If it feels easy_, don't do it."_

His dad had said the same goddamn thing that afternoon. Wanting to see things black and white so they could be easy was the childish thing, he'd said. Rick claimed that he hadn't deserved Lori's love when he was operating by black and white. His dad had said that Carl was taking the wrong lessons away from all this, and not learning how to understand the complicated way that people needed each other.

"_You're gonna beat this world, I know you will. You are smart, and you are strong, and you are so brave. And I love you. You gotta do what's right, baby."_

His mom had seen something in him, something that had an instinct to feel what was right. His dad told him that she saw it in Rick, too. Carl felt fear creep up the back of his neck. It was cold, and it seemed to reach around his shoulders and dig through the skin of his chest, spread open the cracks between his ribs to wrap around his heart. _Could _he feel what was right? Was it gone? Had he lost that thing that she believed in, that was in him?

Judith squawked and her angelic face twisted into a real cry. He'd inadvertently squeezed her too tightly. No! NO! Carl started to tremble as he gentled his touch rocked her in earnest. He hadn't meant...he didn't...he wasn't...he couldn't...

And just like that,

the sob he'd stuffed down when Carol had talked about Sophia,

the ones he'd held back talking to Beth about protecting her and his sister,

the ones he'd crammed back in when he'd realized exactly what his dad was saying without saying about his mom and Shane and Judith,

the ones he'd been too tough to even _consider _every time his side screamed and his eye burned and his whole body ached,

the tidal wave of them that had been pushing and pushing and pushing at him since his mom...

they were all just...falling out.


	23. Too Soon

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Too Soon"**

Beth heard him before she saw him. It wasn't loud, but it was the uneven cadence of grief too long denied. The D Block was shrouded mostly in shadow. Several fluttery glows were shining on the first floor, but the only illumination on the upper deck came from Carl's camp lantern at the far end. In its dim radius she could make out his form seated on the floor outside his cell. For once, he was missing his hat, and it looked like he'd also foregone his boots. Judith's rocking cradle was at his far side, and he had his sister in his arms. He was swaying with her as he gulped for breath, one hand carefully supporting her at the neck and shoulders while the other arm pressed her lower half close to his torso. His right leg was folded up under his left that extended out across the walkway. At his side nearer to her sat the lantern and a large shallow bowl.

She hesitated. She was torn between allowing him his time to calm with just his sister and approaching to offer him the comfort of companionship. As a compromise she stalled, toeing off her own boots and picking them up before continuing on in her sock-feet. She'd grabbed a blanket on the way past her own cell, and was glad for it. With the block so empty, the air got cool faster than in C where most were still gathered in the commons.

Beth didn't want to surprise Carl, so when she was several cells away she tapped her boots lightly on the rail to alert him to her presence. He didn't look up, but she noticed a change in his shoulders. He had heard her.

As she got within earshot she said softly, "Is it alright if I'm here? I'll just stay quiet for a while – until you two are ready for company." She sat close enough to be within the light of the lantern but still to allow them to be on their own. She set her boots and the blanket aside and pulled her knees up under her chin to wait. _"This is when he needs you most. Soften his heart, Lord. Help him to be open."_

Judith didn't seem to mind the sounds much. She looked to be lolling with the motion, chewing on a piece of Carl's shirt she had gripped in her fist. She had turned at the sound of Beth's voice, but if the book was right the infant wouldn't be able to distinguish shapes at such a distance yet.

For some reason Beth didn't feel worried. Maybe the breakdown should have scared her, or perhaps she should have been trying to wrangle the baby away from him if he was emotionally volatile. But she knew there wasn't a threat here. The sounds felt...clean.

It was several minutes before he quieted completely. Jude still had the slobbery shirt in her fingers, but she looked to be asleep on her brother's shoulder by then. Carl took a series of deep breaths. He drew each into his lungs fully before letting it out in a long and drawn out sigh. Finally, he carefully lifted the baby from his chest and maneuvered her over to her cradle, tucking her blankets in around her. He dug the heel of his right hand into his good eye, and scrubbed his left over his face and neck. He grabbed the collar of his shirt to finish the job, then let out a small disgusted sound as he discovered the sizable spot of drool his sister had left.

Beth laughed softly. She left her stuff where she'd set it and scooted over next to the bowl. It was filled with water and had a small towel draped over the side. Instantly she knew its purpose. Taking the towel, she saturated it in the bowl and wrung it before handing it to Carl. "This will probably feel great," she smiled at him.

He didn't look at her, but took the towel. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks." He pressed it to his eye and sighed. "Unh. Oh, yeah." She could see his lips quirk up into a half-smile.

She made an affirmative sound in response.

He turned his head in her direction. "I'm, uh, glad you were able to come. Was he...mad or anything?"

She said, "I think he understood this time."

He didn't respond, but he scooted closer so their shoulders were touching. He relaxed a bit at the contact. He was fidgeting with his hand next to hers. Finally he stopped and looked down at their hands between them, then up at her where he finally made eye-contact. His eye widened a little when he realized she'd been watching him.

"_Lord, I don't know what to do here. I don't want to add more to this complicated mess he has to face. Would it be helping or not? And...what would I even want if it wasn't for how he's hurting?"_

She waited and just looked at him. She saw her friend. She could still see a little of the boy who had stayed in a room at her house when he'd been shot by Otis, and who had cried like she had when a person he loved had stumbled out of the barn and been put down in front of them. She saw the almost-man who sat with her today while a family slept nearby and earnestly told her how he was convicted to his soul to protect the two women that mattered most in the world to him – his sister and her, Beth Greene – even if it destroyed him to do it. As she watched him she could see him watching her. She wondered what he saw? Did he see the weak girl that tried to slit her wrists to escape the enormity of what she couldn't understand? Did he see the woman that shouldered her share of the work of their new community? His eyes dropped for just a glance to her lips. If she'd blinked she would have missed it. She felt a flush start to creep up her neck and she felt...embarrassed? shy? excited? No, curious – and in that moment she knew what his lips looked like, too.

She felt him take her hand. It didn't feel wrong.

"If you don't feel like talking, I understand. Today was kind of insane. Can I maybe change that?" She put out her free hand for the towel. He handed it over, and smiled the slightest bit.

"I promised I'd tell you about the fight."

Beth shrugged. "I won't let you forget. But 'later' doesn't have to be right now, tonight." Squeezing the towel with one hand wasn't that easy, but she managed and gave it back.

"Part of it I do want to say."

"Alright."

"I was...worried, or mad, or whatever – bothered – about...," he paused. He held the cloth to his injured eye, and had now turned to look away from her. "Um, I just...I feel stupid saying it."

"It's ok. You can tell me anything, and it won't matter."

She felt the fingers of Carl's hand shift and weave their way between hers. They hadn't ever held hands like that before. She swallowed. It was really...intimate.

"_Oh, no. Is this too much? I don't want this getting in the way. Help! Help!"_

He was looking down at their hands now. "I was jealous. Because I thought you looked at him, Daryl, like – ," he squeezed her hand slightly and moved is thumb along the outside of hers, "like...about..._this_."

Beth heard him swallow and clear his throat.

"So, um...do you?"

"_Lord, I need to be honest. But how do I keep this from turning into something that's all fueled by the wrong stuff? I'm... afraid."_

She thought for a moment and then started slowly. "Daryl is handsome. He's a good provider. I think many girls see those qualities and appreciate them. But, for me, you know... 'looking' is something different than doing." She looked down at his hand and hers and felt a flutter in her chest and stomach. "You know that Daryl isn't my friend the way you are."

"So. I..." He was quiet for a long several seconds. "Uh, I'm not sure I know what you just said."

"I'm not looking to make Daryl my boyfriend."

"Good!" It burst out of him, and he seemed instantly embarrassed. "Sorry. I just , I – I," he was stumbling and she couldn't help but think how sweet it was. He ducked his head and made a frustrated sound. Then, quietly, "I think you might know already."

He was looking in her eyes again. It was so clear. She could see him, and how he saw her, and it was a beautiful and precious thing. She knew her eyes wouldn't be hiding anything from him.

"I'm not going anywhere, y'know?"

His gaze clouded with confusion.

"I, I mean," she said, and then stopped. This was not starting well. _"How do I say this? How do I slow this down? How do I promise this?"_

"It's like with the story about today? I know you will tell me. You've promised – that you won't forget, that you'll be honest. And you know I'll wait to hear it from you, that I'll be patient, that I'll listen to the whole thing and not be judgmental, right? We trust each other to do what we've said we'll do. So we can take our time. If we need to rest first, or figure out when the best time for listening is, or make sure we have a private place to talk, we can do that before, y'know, we get started."

Carl was catching on quickly. "I think I see what you mean."

"Right this second? Tonight? It's just...too soon. But I'm not going anywhere. Are you?"

"No."

"Give that here. Let me cool it off again. Hey, are you cold? I brought a blanket we can share?"

He smiled at her then, a little of that wolfish look from the afternoon peeking through. "Only if you call me that loopy thing again."

"It was _loup_."

"Loop. I like it."

"_Oh, God. I like _him_. I like him so much. I don't know how to like him this much. How do I do this?"_


	24. Brother

**Notes: See below for story notes to this chapter.**

**Response to "Guest" Reviewer: Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review! Reading the entire story all at once must have been quite a task! I really appreciate your comment. It was such a generous compliment. If you can, I hope you'll consider signing in so I can respond to you personally in the future.**

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Brother"**

"Does it hafta be now? It can't wait?"

Rick had his thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his jeans and he was doing that shoulder dip he did when things were serious. He had been studying his boot but now he looked up to catch Daryl's eye and hold it. "No, I don't think it should. I'm sorry. I know this day has been too long already but I don't want to sleep on this."

Daryl shifted his weight on his feet and looked back up to the tower where Karen had relieved him. It would probably be better to talk out here anyway and at this time of night. It would be private, nobody to wake up, or walk past, or get curious. He adjusted the crossbow on his shoulder, easing it off a wad of poncho that had built up. It's not like he didn't suspect it was coming. He just hadn't figured on it being so soon.

Finally he turned back to Rick and gave a nod. "A'right." Maybe he should have questioned what this was about, but he didn't feel like it. He felt like leaving this day behind. He felt like going inside to his lumpy bunk and giving into the exhaustion that was pushing in through his temples and down through his neck. He thought he _might_ feel a little like punching Rick, but he was too tired. Maybe this _was_ the best idea at that. Less likely to result in gratuitous violence.

Rick looked nervous as hell. Daryl liked that. Let the bastard sweat it some. He was part of the thing that was eating at Daryl's gut. Why shouldn't Rick feel shitty, too? Honestly, what exactly did Daryl have to say to him? It's not like he had permission to give. It's not like Carol was ever his. His stomach twisted. Nope, wasn't ever, wouldn't ever be...now. He didn't want to hear any details, either. If Rick tried it Daryl knew that punch would become a reality. He sure as fuck didn't want an apology. There went his stomach again. He knew better than anybody here – better than fucking Rick – that Carol was a treasure, and that any man would be a fool or blind, or maybe just a goddamn cowardly, rednecked son of a bitch, sorry piece of shit not to love her every second he had the chance in every way she'd let him.

Rick moved off toward the fence line past B. "Have you had a chance to check the back side ever when you were out hunting?"

Daryl wasn't expecting that. "Uh, yah, some. Looks like it got hit with artillery or some such, but from the inside blowin' out."

Rick nodded and said, "I know. Karen and Tyreese checked it with me today. He's going to be planning how to deal with securing the fence and probably talking with Hershel , maybe some of the others, about how best to shore up that back side of A."

Daryl didn't really have much to say to that, so he just gave an affirmative sound, and kept up with Rick's leisurely pace. Where was all this going?

"Tyreese is a good man. He's got a real way with people. Noah rode out along with us, you know to get a firsthand look for supplies and whatnot? You should have seen how the big man brought that boy out of his shell." Rick shook his head, and sounded a little bewildered. "I wish I had half of his sense when it comes to stuff like that. God!" he huffed out, and looked up to the stars. "I talked to Carl today and it was like torture. My own damn son and I don't how to start half the time."

"Ain't like he's makin' it easy. Kid's been a nasty little prick for weeks."

Rick's laughter greeted him in response and Rick reached over to slap him on the arm. "Ha. I won't argue with you there. But, it was still a hard fucking thing to watch you beat him into the ground and not wring your neck, brother." There was an edge under the good humor, and Daryl didn't miss it.

"S'pose that's true. Needed ta be done, though," Daryl replied. It was the truth.

Rick nodded. "I'd felt it, too. God, I should have had five or six more years to get ready for that, you know? I didn't pull that crap on my old man until I was at least eighteen. I never figured I'd have to face it so soon, and not in this hellish disaster. I guess I always figured I'd have my dad to ask about it or something. I mean, I've been his dad and all...but I was the dad to a boy, a child, not – not whatever he is now." Rick let out a deep sigh.

"Ya said ya talked to 'im. Did it do anything? He tell ya what's eatin' him?" He hoped Carl had broached the subject of his mom...and Carol.

They were to the fence now and heading back along. Rick was obviously leading them to where they could get a look at where it joined up against the back lot. Either he was making his way to catch a glimpse of the back rubble, or he was making sure they were secluded when they had it out. Daryl kept his guard up just in case.

"Some. We started, I think. We talked some about what happened with you today. He said he'd made it right?"

"Yeah. Right enough."

Rick nodded in reply. "I also started talking to him about some old issues, things we never had a moment's time to deal with and I think have been festering at both of us." He was looking out the fence toward the stream now. There were hardly any walkers along this side. The few shuffling out in the dark were at the far side of the water, near the tree line. It wasn't a surprise. All noises and the smells of life were around the front sides of the prison. Vehicle traffic in and out, human voices, all their actions drew the dead there and the dead already there drew the other dead in their mindless, herding action. "I started with Shane."

The name caught Daryl by surprise. Nobody had spoken of Rick's former partner since the night after they escaped the farm, when his confession prompted the reorientation of the group's understanding of itself. Daryl hadn't been that shocked. He'd pieced it together from what he'd tracked the night before, and the way the two had been circling in the weeks leading up. It was necessary, but it was not something that Rick had ever contemplated. Daryl had respected Rick for it, even as he'd watched the others lose their shit. And Lori...it had been the end of the end for the two of them.

"Shane? That's an old wound. You think it ain't healed?"

"It hasn't for me."

" 'Kay." Daryl didn't have much to offer other than that. The two had been family before the rest of them ever were. Brothers in uniform and out. Then the mess about whether Shane knew Rick was dead or not, and the whole fucked up drama about Judith? Daryl shook his head. It was more than he had the patience for, mostly. He didn't know quite how to respond.

"I don't think it has for Carl. I think both of us need to work through that, and do it together."

"Sounds right, I guess."

Rick had stopped. They had reached the fence junction and could catch a glimpse of just the edge of the back of A Block and its toppled wall. But it didn't look like Rick's attention was going to be focused there. He was looking at his hands, then out the fence, then away again – anywhere, it was clear, but at Daryl.

"It occurred to me today that I might be about to find myself in another situation like that."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Rick, not sure exactly what he was driving at.

"That I was getting close to maybe destroying something with a brother over a person we both care about and would never want to hurt." Rick still wasn't looking at Daryl.

His autonomic nervous system picked up on the danger before he exactly realized what it was, and the hairs at the back of Daryl's neck rose, all stiff and sensitive. This was about Carol alright, but not in the way he'd expected at all. He stepped back, and looked hard at the man he thought of as family – the brother he had left after he'd had to end his first.

"What the fuck are you saying, Rick?" Daryl voice was louder than he expected, but he was pissed and Rick needed to know it. "Are you sayin' that _I'm_ fuckin' _Shane_!? That I'm gonna try an' kill you? You bring me out here fer that!? So's you could play out some scenario about Carol like you did with Lori!? Fuck that, man! I ain't no Shane!" He spit out the name venomously.

Rick took a full step back and his eyes shot to Daryl's. He looked shocked and confused, and he kept his hands far from his sides and away from his weapons. "No! No! I didn't! Daryl, no. I mean - ," he stumbled and his hands went to his hair. "No, brother! I...I didn't want to say that at all." His voice was desperate and pleading. He stood there for a minute waiting and breathing before he tried again.

Rick's voice was quiet. "I wanted to talk to you because I feel – I thought that – aw, hell. I'm worried that _I'm_ the one that's Shane here, Daryl." He hung his head and his entire frame sank. He looked defeated. "I wasn't looking for it. Nothing's really gone too far yet. But I can't...I won't do that to us," he looked up, "to you and me, or to you and Carol – I won't let any of us face that again. It doesn't matter what I want."

He looked miserable. It was clear what he did want: Carol. Daryl already knew what she wanted, and he couldn't keep her from it.

And just like that he was so angry he saw red. He whirled away from Rick and grabbed the fence, shaking it and growling. Fuck this! Fuck Rick and his honor and Carol and her wanting to make everything right for him! Fuck friendship and family and needing each other at all! Fuck Dale for telling him they looked to him. Fuck Carl for following him around and trusting him. Fuck Glenn and Maggie for wanting him and not Merle, and for him wanting them all back enough to drag Merle here so he could sacrifice himself. Fuck Hershel and his damn crutches, and Michonne and her sword, and fuck the old geezers and Beth and the kids and their books and fuck little Jude.

It was Jude that pulled him out of it, finally. If there was anything innocent in all this, it was her. But he knew, just like they all did, that she wasn't going to live or grow without every single one of them. And he knew that each of them wouldn't make it without each of the others. Andrea had said it: "You can't make it alone anymore." And he'd told her, "Never could."

He believed it. He knew he believed it because of Carol...and because of Rick. He and Carol had chosen to make this alright. He would have to figure it out here, too, and so would Rick. Fuck.

Daryl just breathed for a while, calming down. When he finally let go of the fence and turned to Rick the man had moved to sit against the wall of the building. He'd pulled his knees up and rested his elbows on them, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. Daryl had wanted Rick to suffer. He was.

"Hey," he called. Rick lifted his eyes to look over and Daryl gestured with his head for Rick to come back. Slowly Rick got to his feet and returned.

"Hey."

Daryl sucked in one last breath and blew it out again. "We ain't neither of us like him. This ain't a competition. Carol _is_ a prize but she chooses for herself." He wished more than anything that he'd won. "She...we won't be changing nothin' if she's with you. Got that?" Rick's eye widened and he nodded. "And you already know what I _don't _have to say, right?"

"You know who I am, Daryl."

"Yeah, I know. Sometimes I wish you weren't."

"Yeah, me too."

Daryl couldn't help but smirk just a bit at that. "Go back. I'll be in after a minute."

"Yeah?" Rick sounded skeptical.

"Yeah. I'm tired, asshole. Some buzz-cut bastard dragged me here and kept me out after my watch."

* * *

**Note: It feels to me that the arc of this story is nearing is logical completion. I won't be foolish enough to say exactly how many chapters remain, but it will likely be only a few more. I want to thank everyone, again, who has followed, favorited and reviewed this story - and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to promote it. In the final chapter there will be special thanks to the people who inspired me to write this story, and to keep it involved and continuing. **


	25. Stalker

**Notes: Thank you all for being patient. I am in the process of moving which makes this a "famine" time. But several people did makes special requests so I worked to put up the next chapter. It's only one this time, however. As always, thanks to all for staying with the story and supporting it with your reviews.**

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. The "Litany against Fear" comes from **_**Dune**_** and its copyright belongs to Frank Herbert, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Stalker"**

The Block C commons was empty when Rick passed back through, the only light from the stars that shown down through the windows up a story. He could see a few dim half circles of light flicker from beneath the privacy curtains that were pulled across the cells along the first floor. He mounted the stairs as quietly as he could and noted that on the second level one of the lights came from beneath Carol's curtain. He couldn't help but smile to himself, but he resisted the urge to call on her just then. He needed to see his children. But there was no reason not to drop by with Judith to say goodnight.

He crossed through the double doors into D, listening as he always did for the small sounds that would tell him the state of their community. There were the low sounds of voices, words not discernible, the concrete acoustics warping the echoes until their origin was lost. A bunk creaked in a cell as he passed, snoring, the strange reverb of a pipe somewhere in the bowels of the mighty building adjusting itself to the cooling of the night. The cells on the upper deck of D were dark with the exception of the last at the far end. Carl had waited up.

Rick tapped lightly on the bars of the door when he reached it. He still wasn't used to the tinny clang that announced a visitor to one's room. When Carl didn't answer, Rick called his name softly and pushed aside the blanket. The sight that greeted him was arresting. In that moment he missed his wife acutely. He hoped that if there was an afterlife Lori had the ability to see what he saw at that moment. Carl was lying back on his pillows with Judith snuggled up on his chest. Her head was tucked under his chin, and his left arm was wrapped securely around her. The two were sleeping peacefully. Carl's right leg hung off the bed, his foot flat on the floor, while his right hand hung limply off the edge of the mattress. It seemed to gesture toward Judith's rocking cradle beneath it.

Rick leaned in the doorway and watched his children. In the low lantern light Carl's injured eye was hardly noticeable, and he looked so much younger than he did when he was awake. His pistol in its holster along with the deputy hat was hung from one poster at the foot of the bunks. Judith's bag hung off the other. A shallow bowl peeked out from under the bed next to where Carl had kicked his boots off. Judith looked like Carl had as a baby, and Carl looked like Lori. It occurred to Rick that he loved these two beings so fiercely that it made his bones ache, and that the fear of losing them followed him like his own shadow – had replaced it, in fact. The fear clung to him, infiltrated his unconscious and only became visible, recognizable to him when the light shown at certain angles. The rest of the time he might not see it. He might go about like he was paying attention to other things, but the shadow was there as his constant stalker.

He'd read a book once where a boy had to undergo a trial to prove his manhood. He didn't remember much about the book, except the mantra the boy had chanted to himself.

_I must not fear.  
__Fear is the mind-killer.__  
__Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.__  
__I will face my fear.__  
__I will permit it to pass over me and through me.__  
__And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.__  
__Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.__  
__Only I will remain._

Rick had remembered it because he was at the academy doing his police training when he read it. He thought it was fitting for some of the situations they were learning about, like hostage negotiations and unarmed combat against armed assailants. He hadn't thought about it for years, certainly not since the dead began roaming the earth. He reflected on it now.

He had been afraid he'd lost Lori when he woke from his coma. He'd been afraid he'd lost her again when he found out about the baby...and Shane. Then he'd been so afraid of what the baby meant and of losing her to it that he'd lost her while she was still alive and then lost her to death. He'd been afraid of losing Carl, and in his desperation to save his son Rick had only just realized the trap he'd set for them both to lose each other – once again while they were alive and all the more quickly to death as a result if Carl's rash behavior was any indicator.

_Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration._ Rick thought back to his earlier conversation with Carol, on his observations about Tyreese and Karen, the words of Hershel, and the exchange with Daryl. The thing about it was, he'd tried not to fear. He'd failed at that. He'd tried to face his fear alone. Failed that one, too, and failed his wife and son while he was at it. In the book the test had been for an individual. This test? These tests? He was finally figuring out that they weren't.


	26. Note I

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Notes I"**

"Thought you might want to say goodnight to her."

"_I _might want to say goodnight...to_ Judith_?" Her mouth quirked up in that teasing way that said he wasn't fooling her. The tiny girl was fast asleep, tucked beneath her blankets in the crib Rick carried.

Rick ducked his head slightly and gave a half shrug. He looked back to her sheepishly and shook his head. He hadn't been trying very hard. She broke into a full, sweet smile and a bubble of soft laughter rose from her. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight and she pulled her knees up towards her chest to make room for him to sit at the end of her bunk. He eased himself down and set the crib on its rockers on the floor at his feet, slipping Judith's bag beside it.

"I was a little surprised you're still awake," he said, leaning back against the wall and turning to take her in. She had changed into thick fluffy socks, plaid flannel pajama pants, and she was bundled into one of her signature sweaters. Somehow she always managed to find them. Or maybe people saved them out for her because they knew she preferred them. He had the sudden urge to climb up next to her and burrow his hands under the sweater and around her waist. It was part attraction and part affection. He was a little jealous of the socks.

"Oh, just winding down. Big day, ya know?" she sighed.

"Yeah." He caught her eyes and he felt himself grin like an idiot. She raised her eyebrows at him and batted at him playfully with her foot as her laughter bubbled out again. He caught her around the ankle to still her, but didn't let go as their mirth settled companionably. She seemed content with the contact as he rested his hand on her calf where it came to lean on against his thigh.

Carol reached into her lap and held up a small box that he hadn't noticed hidden among the folds of her sweater. It was metal and probably dark green, though it was hard to tell in the low light. It appeared to be the kind for holding recipe cards. He looked up at her quizzically.

"When I'm trying to sort things out, or I can't sleep – sometimes just because I don't want to lose something I remember – I takes notes. I jot down ideas, or stories, or things I heard that might be useful. Then I keep them in here so I can come back to them."

"So, it's not recipes then."

"Well, sometimes it is," she admitted. "But we don't have a lot of choices about ingredients to make the fun stuff anymore... like seven layer bars?" Her voice held longing when she named the dessert.

"I don't know what that is, but I bet it's seven kinds of I-really-miss-it."

Carol covered her mouth with a hand to stifle her giggle and he chuckled, more at her response than his joke. "They were so good!" she drawled out behind her hand, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. "God, what I wouldn't give to make some!"

"What were your notes about tonight?" he asked, noting how the lines formed around her eyes when she laughed. In the candlelight they were more silver than blue.

Carol sobered and took her time considering her answer. Rick rubbed her calf lightly in encouragement, enjoying the flannel and the closeness.

"I try to write things I remember...about people. The ones we've lost? To be able to tell each other, you know, when we're ready." She had flipped open the lid of the box on its hinges and was running her fingers over the cards inside. She looked up and met his eyes. "You told me that you and Carl talked about Shane today, so I was making a note about what I had for memories of him."

Rick frowned. He couldn't imagine there was anything good for Carol to recall. Shane had tried several times to convince the group to leave the Greene farm under the presumption that Sophia was dead. He'd nearly gotten into a fist fight with Daryl over it. The confrontation at the barn that led to the heart-rending discovery of Sophia was a direct effect of Shane's reckless refusal to work through problems diplomatically. Talking things out might not have saved Carol's daughter, but it might have saved her the horror of seeing Sophia as a walker stumbling over the bullet-ridden corpses. It might have saved her from having to watch Rick be the one to deliver Sophia to final death right in front of Carol's eyes.

"You knew Shane when he was already a changed man," he finally said, watching his hand move slowly over the checkered pattern on her leg.

When he looked up again at her, she pressed her lips together into a thin line, and he could see that she was considering his words carefully. "I didn't know him long, and the time I had was so full of...of desperation that I'm – not sure quite what to make of it." She stopped, carefully pulling out two cards from the box.

"But, I do have two memories of Shane that I wanted to tell you about. Maybe...I could tell Carl...and Judith? Someday." She glanced over the side of the bunk toward the crib, then back up at him. "Or you could?" Her eyes softened as she held his gaze, and the muscles of her face relaxed. "Would you like to hear them? Maybe...you can tell me what they make _you_ think about?"

Rick sat up and bent down to the crib to check on his sleeping daughter. She was still blissfully dosing, the yellow blanket fisted in one hand. He leaned back into the bunk and situated himself. He reached out an arm and motioned for her for come sit with him. "I would really like that," he said, feeling the weight of all that had happened during the day begin to lift as she moved to fit herself beside him.


	27. Note II

**Disclaimer: Copyright for **_**The Walking Dead**_** belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.**

**Title: "Bands"  
Chapter: ****"Note II"**

"It was the day you all went back into Atlanta for Merle. We – most of the women, Andrea, Jacqui, Amy – were down at the water doing laundry. Gah!" she shook her head. "I swear every memory I've had since the outbreak seems to have dirty clothes in it!" She felt amusement at that and pursed her lips wryly. It was its own kind of wonder that they were developing the ability to find dark humor in the everyday harshness of their world.

They had laughed that day, too. Part of what she recalled was how good it felt. It was the first time she had really spoken to the other women on her own. It was a moment of quiet intimacy. She considered sharing Andrea's joke about the vibrator with Rick, but hesitated. It was the time when those dear, sweet women had found the thread that united them. They had met each other's eyes and seen the pain and known its relief in finding each other. The heat on their backs from the sun and the chill in their fingers and toes from the water had been forgotten as they heckled back and forth. Those few seconds attached them to one another like a bonding agent. Carol would always see the rays shining through Amy's hair that afternoon. She would forever remember the edge to Andrea's voice and the way Jacqui clicked her tongue and snapped the shirt she'd been cleaning. No. For now those were still hers to cherish. Maybe someday. There were other notes for that.

She turned to Rick, and he half-nodded in response, recognizing the humor. His arm was low around her waist and his hand rested comfortably at her hip. He had managed to work his thumb up under the hem of her sweater. She noted the nearly imperceptible crinkle around his eyes when he'd managed it, as if he'd gotten away with something. Damn, he was cute! And he had sensed so naturally how to fit with her. She was leaning her shoulders against the cinderblock wall next to his rather than the awkward arm-behind that never worked. Yep, definitely cute.

"Shane was down from us by the rocks with Carl. I'm not sure exactly what they were doing, but Carl had a net. I guess they were trying to catch something. Shane was diving around out in the shallows while Carl worked his pole. Maybe crawdads? Well, Ed was just up the hill watching me like he always did. We saw Lori come and call Carl away. Shane waded out and he and Lori had words. I didn't really see much of it. They moved away pretty quick, and I knew better than to take my eyes off my work. Ed would make me pay for it if I did."

Rick's hand squeezed gently at her hip and his thumb skimmed along the skin at her waist. She wondered if maybe she shouldn't have mentioned Lori and Shane talking, but then she thought better of it. No, just like Rick and Carl needed to deal with Shane she and Rick would eventually have to talk about Lori. Not yet, but soon. There were other notes for that.

Rick replied, "I had hardly even seen you or Ed by that time – just around the fire the previous night, to greet the next morning. But as you can imagine, as a deputy I encountered men like him."

She had her eyes on her card. "Yeah. I met a deputy once myself. Unfortunately, Ed knew him already and being friends and all...well, I didn't get much out of it." She felt Rick lean in and place a kiss on her head. She appreciated that he didn't apologize. She slid her eyes shut and took a deep breath.

"So. As we were scrubbing the clothes we got to teasing each other a bit, and it was fun, the four of us. But, as you might guess, Ed just couldn't stand us – me – having anything that wasn't under his design. As soon as he heard he marched on down with his stupid cigarette and his big mouth. First he ordered me to get back to work." She opened her eyes again. She could still hear Ed's bluster after all this time. When she had smelled the residue of smoke on the clothes of T-Dog, or Merle, or Daryl it brought him back more vividly than she wanted to admit.

"For some reason Andrea decided to talk back to him that day. I was horrified. I was afraid Ed would belt her. She tossed a piece of laundry at him and he slung it back in her face! I tried to get her to back off. I knew what he could do. He grabbed my arm and started to haul me back up to camp. I was ready to go because I knew the longer it went on the worse it would be for me. But," she couldn't help the waiver that threatened in her voice, even now, "then Jacqui got into it and told him they'd all seen my bruises, and then everyone was yelling and pushing." She shook her head against the memory.

Rick's arm was comforting around her and his touch kept her relaxed. "That's what drew Shane back, I'm sure. It was all kind of a jumble. Ed was yanking my arm and I think he shoved Andrea. Amy was screaming and trying to get between them. Jacqui had ahold of my other hand. Ed was louder than everyone. And then suddenly Shane was there and Ed was on his back, and Shane was hitting and hitting him." She paused, considering how to explain her reaction.

Rick tensed and cleared his throat, but waited for her to continue.

"I was terrified, Rick. That's the only way I can describe it. I was crying and apologizing to Ed and begging Shane to stop. I'm sure I sounded like a crazy person. The girls probably thought I should be cheering Shane on."

She felt Rick nod next to her. "It's complicated."

"I was afraid because I knew I'd have to take care of him and I knew what he'd do when we were alone. And honestly? I was half afraid Shane might kill him. Part of me wanted him to succeed. God knows I prayed for him to die so many times! But I didn't know what Sophia and I would do without him, you know? We had only known any of you a couple days and what did I have to offer anyone? Would we be on our own? In that instant all I could picture was me and my little girl at the mercy of somebody even worse than Ed." She was breathing hard by this time and she had to swallow back tears.

"Shhhhh. It makes sense, Carol. We knew so little back then. We didn't even know each other."

Leaning her head into Rick's chest, she simply inhaled and exhaled for several long seconds. He brought his free hand around and pulled her into a loose embrace. She hummed in response and smiled into him. It was exactly what she needed.

"But, what I really wanted to share with you," she emphasized pulling back, "was what Shane said when he got himself back under control. He said, 'if you ever put your hands on your wife or that little girl again I won't stop. I'll beat you to death, Ed.' It was the first time in my life that anyone had ever stood up for me like that, Rick. I – I'm not sure it was exactly comforting, but it...it meant something really important to me."

"I repeated those words to myself over and over again that day and the next. I said it when I put the pick through his head and when we were on the road after. I reminded myself of it after we lost Sophia and I wasn't sure if... well." She swallowed and gathered herself. "I even say it to myself now, sometimes, when things are really hard. I am valuable enough for someone to fight for me – for me to fight for myself. It's Shane I have to thank for that."

She looked up at Rick. His arm was still around her. He was focused on the guttering candle wearing the look that said he was thinking deeply about what she'd said. He shifted his gaze back to her and gave her a ghost of a smile. He slid his outer hand up and smoothed some curls behind her ear. "Thank you for that. Shane – he was at his very best when he had a clear direction. I know he would have protected you and Sophia, just as he said." He brushed his thumb at her temple, and the tenderness in his eyes made her breath catch. His voice was husky when he said, "You _are_ worth fighting for. You are valuable to all of us. _To me_."

Kissing Rick Grimes was even better the second time.


End file.
